


Defy the Stars

by charlock221



Category: White Collar
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Betrayal, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Peter/Neal, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, It's gonna be a rollercoaster guys, M/M, Pining, Pre-Series, Romance, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-25 09:24:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 27,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6188998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlock221/pseuds/charlock221
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pre-series AU in which Neal is preparing to steal a piece from the gallery Elizabeth works at, but when someone beats him to it and robs the place, he becomes a witness and is forced to talk to the FBI. Enter Peter Burke, who begins to fall for Elizabeth but even he cannot escape the charismatic charm of "Nick Halden". Neal can only keep up the charade for so long, especially as he begins to find himself unwilling to keep it up. Soon, Matthew Keller makes things dangerous for everyone involved, and things quickly spiral out of Neal's control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The ‘[View of Toledo](http://www.artble.com/imgs/f/1/4/336986/view_of_toledo.jpg)’ would be difficult to apprehend, Neal mused. He stood in front of the piece, arms crossed while he pretended to study it, when really, his mind was elsewhere. It would be difficult, but not impossible. This gallery was relatively small, there was marginally less security compared to bigger, more popular galleries, which made Neal’s job a little easier. Not a whole lot easier, though. Still, he had no doubt he could do it.

He’d already noted the alarms attached to the frames of every painting in the room, the security cameras that watched every visitor and the guards that strolled by every half an hour. He had yet to case the entire place, but there was no rush. Today was day one, and if it took one hundred days, then so be it. There could be no mistakes.

It helped that he was – so far – hidden from the eyes of the law. He’d made a few blunders in the past year that had had him leaving town quickly, but Mozzie had been quick to find out if anyone was on his tail. It seemed that he was safe. And so perhaps Neal was hoping that it wouldn’t _actually_ take one hundred days; he would prefer to be in and out of New York as quickly as possible, but there was a reason he was after this particular painting.

It was Kate’s favourite. Neal wasn’t sure why, exactly; he’d visited the gallery for the past couple of days and just stared at it, trying to work out what it was that Kate liked about it. She’d mentioned it a few times in the past, and every time they stopped off in New York she insisted that they go and see it. If Neal could give it to her, perhaps she’d stop hiding and come back to him. The news of its theft was sure to gain her attention, and then he knew he’d win her over again.

“You like that painting, huh?”

Neal turned to see a woman with dark hair stood a few paces nearby, watching him with bright blue eyes and a friendly smile. He frowned slightly and she came closer, elaborating.

“I’ve noticed you come in here and look at it.” she said. “You’re a fan of El Greco?”

“Very much so. He’s part of my thesis.” Neal replied swiftly, uncrossing his arms. “I’m taking an MA at the university around the corner.”

“Well, if you need any information, I’m happy to provide it. I’m the assistant manager here.” the woman said with another friendly smile. “I’m Elizabeth, by the way.”

“Nick.” Neal responded, flashing a smile at her. “I think I’m covered on Greco, but thank you.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Ok, well, nice to meet you.”

“You too.” Neal answered absentmindedly, his attention returning to Greco’s piece as Elizabeth walked off, her heels clicking against floor.

Neal spent a few more hours at the gallery, wandering around and scouring the place to learn its security measures, and how he’d consequently get around them. When it got to closing time, Neal was already planning to come back the next day.

He found himself returning every day. Not necessarily to stare at the ‘View of Toledo’ the whole time; often he strolled around the different floors, looking at the works of local artists and smiling at Elizabeth every time he passed her in a hallway.

He’d found that this was a nice place to think. More often than not, Moz was camping out on his sofa, so unless he was prepared to hear the conspiracy of the day, his shabby apartment didn’t offer the tranquillity Neal sometimes desired. This gallery, though, wasn’t popular enough that he didn’t have tons of visitors streaming through its doors every morning, which meant there were usually empty parts of the gallery that Neal could simply sit in and think. Think about the heist, think about whether he was being careful enough to hide himself from the eyes of the law, think about Kate.

To cover the fact that he was visiting every day – as he was certain some members of staff noticed him frequently – Neal brought a sketchbook with him. Towards the end of the week he found himself entering the Van Gogh exhibition which the gallery was hosting for a fortnight.

The room wasn’t empty, though, as he’d hoped. Instead, Elizabeth was there, admiring the [‘Couple Walking in the Trees’](http://xroads.virginia.edu/~museum/armory/galleryQ/q_113_429.b.jpg) with a small smile on her face.

Neal stepped up next to her. “Your favourite?” he guessed. Elizabeth jumped and snapped her head across to look at him. When she saw it was Neal, she relaxed.

“I thought you were my boss.” she said. “He’s been telling me off for hanging around this exhibition all the time.”

“Well, now you’re giving me information on these paintings, so fill my head with knowledge.” Neal responded, prompting a smile from Elizabeth.

“Yes, it is my favourite.” she answered. “I don’t know what it is about it, exactly; it just looks peaceful and serene, you know?”

“Looks spooky if you ask me.” Neal replied. “I mean, what are they doing in those woods in the middle of the night?”

“How dare you,” Elizabeth laughed. “If you’re here to mock my preferences then I’m going to have to escort you out.”

“Me? Elizabeth, I’m hurt.” Neal responded. “And after I bought a pencil from your gift shop.” He pulled out the aforementioned object, twirling it between his fingers. “Look, the gallery’s title is inscribed here.”

Elizabeth laughed again, a high pitched, melodious laugh that lured a smile out of Neal. “Alright, I’m sorry. Please don’t report me to the curator.” she added with a grin.

“Maybe if I got another free pencil I’ll think about it.”

“Well not until I see what’s in that sketchbook of yours.” Elizabeth responded. “Let’s have a look.” Before Neal could react, she had slid it out from where it was resting in the crook of Neal’s pocketed hand and was flipping through the pages.

Neal’s eyes widened and he made an aborted move to snatch it back, but Elizabeth twisted out of his reach.

“Nick, these are… incredible.” she breathed, eagerly flipping from one sketch to the next. “They’re a perfect match.”

Neal cleared his throat and crossed his arms. “Thank you.” he mumbled with a wary eye, waiting for her to make the connection.

She smiled and closed the book, handing it back to Neal, who all but snatched it back. “In another life you’d have made an excellent art forger.”

Neal forced a laugh and he didn’t have to fake the look of surprise on his face; he was convinced she was going to actually jump to that conclusion.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment, I think.” he said, edging away.

“You should.” Elizabeth replied. “You know, I–”

She was interrupted by a loud alarm blaring from the room across the lobby, and Elizabeth raced away from him, sprinting surprisingly quickly in high heels. Two security guards closed in behind her, and Neal found himself following to see what was happening.

He never got to enter, though, as Elizabeth was already leaving the room, rubbing her face tiredly as she came closer. Neal could see the security guards talking to a boy of about twelve while someone worked to turn the alarm off.

“He grabbed a painting.” Elizabeth said, rolling her eyes. “Set off the alarm.”

“Why’d he grab it?” Neal asked with a frown.

“I don’t know, Nick, why do kids do anything? He probably wanted to look at it up close.”

Neal was about to reply when another man caught his attention. He was walking through the lobby, headed for the exit. He was hurrying, though, and keeping his arms close to his body, which was hidden by a large, zipped up jacket.

Neal nudged Elizabeth and nodded at the guy, and Elizabeth’s gaze hardened when she spotted him.

“Excuse me sir,” she said, stepping in his way. “Do you mind unzipping–” The man ignored her, though, instead opting to push her away and bolt for the exit. Elizabeth fell backwards and Neal caught her before she hit the floor, and the two of them watched as he fled, the two security guards racing after him.

“Alright?” Neal asked as Elizabeth straightened up.

“Yeah.” she responded, her gaze still fixed on the open doors. “We need to call the cops.”

 _Time for me to leave,_ Neal thought. “Actually, do you mind if I shoot off? I’ve got a lecture in a bit, and–”

“What?” Elizabeth asked, turning to him with a frown. “You need to give your statement, you got a better look at him than any of us. I’m sure your tutor won’t mind.”

Neal couldn’t think of a valid excuse to get out of there. “Okay,” he said with a weak smile. “I’ll stick around for them.”

Elizabeth smiled warmly and rubbed his arm as she marched towards the entrance, meeting the two guards, who had come back empty-handed.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time the NYPD arrived on the scene, Neal and Elizabeth were seated in the lobby awaiting their arrival, impatiently tapping their toes for different reasons.

“Their response time leaves a lot to be desired.” Elizabeth commented quietly.

“Uh-huh.” Neal replied, carefully avoiding looking any of the officers who were now flooding the gallery in the eye.

“Rob,” she nodded at one of the security guards. “Told me that the kid was paid to grab a painting. I guess it was so that thief could take the other painting at the same time without setting off the alarm again.”

“Probably.”

“Are you alright, Nick?” she asked, surprised at his monotone answers. “You’re not nervous about talking to the cops, are you?”

“What? No, I’m fine.” he responded, flashing her a smile. She didn’t look convinced, but she had no time to say anything as it was at that moment that an officer strolled over and started questioning them.

Neal was in the middle of giving his – very brief and hurried – statement when the entrance to the gallery opened and a man, in what Neal found was a very bland suit, entered. He looked around at the cops for a moment before heading over to Neal, Elizabeth, and the officer talking to them. Neal groaned and put his head in his hands.

“Nick, are you sure you’re okay?” Elizabeth asked, putting a hand on his back. “What’s wrong?”

“Hi, Agent Peter Burke, FBI. Are you the officer in charge?”

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong, Elizabeth.” Neal said, sitting back up. “I’m just gonna go to the bathroom, and then I’ll be right back.” He got up before anyone could say anything, and rushed to the men’s room at the back of the lobby.

He shoved open the door and hurried in, immediately looking for a window or another door. No such luck. Neal sighed and leaned against the door, and hit his head against it a few times for good measure. He just _had_ to go to the gallery today. He couldn’t have visited two or three times, like a normal criminal, and then be done with it.

He bashed his head once more before taking a deep breath and moving over to one of the mirrors. He paraded his most charismatic smile, but he couldn’t take away the edges of panic that surrounded it. For a moment, Neal took out his phone, debating whether to call Mozzie and have him create some sort of distraction, but he decided it would probably create more problems than it’d solve.

Taking another deep breath, Neal rolled back his shoulders and headed back towards the lobby, smiling easily at Elizabeth’s frown as he sat back down next to her.

“I’m fine.” he said, before she could ask. “What are we talking about?”

“The… robbery.” she said slowly, looking up at Agent Burke, who nodded.

“Miss Mitchell here tells me you saw the guy as well?” he asked.

"Yeah, he was – uh – wearing a black hoodie, had blond hair, uh–” Neal faltered, trying to think of prominent features to describe.

“Do you think if you sat with a sketch artist, you two could create a profile?” Peter asked them, his hands resting on his hips while he waited for them to answer. He was mainly looking at Elizabeth, which was something Neal was incredibly thankful for.

Elizabeth suddenly hit his arm and Neal recoiled, rubbing his arm and frowning incredulously.

“Oh!” she said, her eyes lighting up. “Nick’s a wonderful artist, he could probably draw him for you!”

Neal stared at her wide-eyed, wondering what he’d done to provoke such a betrayal. Agent Burke looked him up and down.

“Could you, Mr…?”

“Halden.” Neal croaked. He could do nothing to escape the sinking ship, so he accepted his fate. “I’d be happy to.”

Elizabeth beamed at him and squeezed his arm. “I’ll help, of course.” she said.

“Of course.” he replied.

* * *

“You’re _what?!_ ”

Neal collapsed face down onto his single bed, deigning not to answer.

“Please tell me you did not just say you’re sketching a portrait of a thief for _the FBI_?”

Neal didn’t reply. He sighed into his pillow.

“Neal.” Mozzie prompted, a looking appalled at his young friend.

The con man rolled over and shrugged. “I’m considering a change of career?” he tried.

Mozzie looked like he wanted to throttle him. “I promise to visit when you’re in prison.” he said, heading towards the door.

“Moz, don’t be such a drama queen.” Neal answered. “This Burke guy isn’t gonna figure out who I am.”

“You’re right, because we’ll be long gone by then. How’s the Caribbean supposed to be this time of the year?”

“We’re not going anywhere until I get that painting.”

Neal didn’t have to look at Mozzie to know the expression on his face in the silence that followed.

“You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not.” Neal said. “I told Kate I’m going to give her that painting–”

“And she didn’t reply to you,” Mozzie interrupted. “She’s gone, Neal, she’s not interested anymore.”

“She’s not gone, Moz. She’s in hiding or something.”

“Or something.” Mozzie said with scepticism. “You don’t even know why she’s gone, she didn’t tell you she was leaving, how long is it going to be before you realise she’s not coming back for you?”

“Enough, Moz.” Neal said, getting up from the bed and heading towards the bathroom. “I’m getting that painting whether you like it or not. And anyway, I’ve spent weeks there, I’m not going to have wasted all that time for nothing.”

“This isn’t going to end well for you, Neal.” Mozzie called, but the other man had left.

* * *

Neal was asked to come to the FBI the next day so that he could provide his portrait. In the lobby, he met Elizabeth and the two of them travelled upwards in the elevator together. Agent Burke was waiting for them and he smiled at Elizabeth when she stepped out first.

“Right this way,” he said, and he led them through a set of glass double doors that revealed an open room with numerous desks dotted about. Neal smiled uneasily at an agent that caught his eye as they headed up a set of stairs and into an office, presumably Burke’s.

“Ok,” Burke said. “If you two want to sit down, I’ll go get a sketchpad for you, Mr Halden, and then you can draw this robber to the best of your ability with the help of Miss Mitchell.”

“Oh, call me Elizabeth, please.” she said with a bright smile, and Burke returned a small smile, leaning casually against the side of his desk.

“Then you can call me Peter.” he replied, then he let out a quiet chuckle and Elizabeth laughed too, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Neal watched their exchange with a frown, slowly looking from one to the other while they talked. When they turned to look at him, he raised his eyebrows.

“’Mr. Halden’ will be fine.”

Laughing again, Elizabeth lightly smacked his arm – _why does she keep doing that?_ – and shook her head. “Really, Nick? What kind of friend refuses to let others call him by his first name?”

“A self-absorbed one?” Peter guessed, and Elizabeth flashed him another dazzling smile.

"Well, now that we’re all friends, and you’ve insulted me after talking for thirty seconds, perhaps we could do this sketch?” Neal said, barely repressing the urge to roll his eyes at the two of them.

Peter nodded and left to get the paper and pens, and when he returned Neal began sketching the thief. Every so often, Elizabeth chipped in with details about the criminal, but otherwise she was occupied with answering questions while Peter filled out a report.

“And did you see which way the robber ran after he left your gallery?”

Elizabeth thought for a moment, “Right, I think. He went right. Nick?”

Neal nodded.

Peter hummed as he typed into the computer. Then he cleared his throat. “Towards that new Italian place?”

Neal paused in his sketch, frowning down at the paper while he listened to Peter.

Elizabeth looked surprised. “Er, yeah, I think so. I’ve never been.”

“Oh, it’s great.” Peter said. “They do great pizza. You should, uh, go there some time.”

Elizabeth considered and smiled. “I will.” she said.

Peter nodded at her answer and then turned back to the computer. He didn’t start typing, though.

Neal raised an eyebrow. “Agent–?”

“It’s cosy.” Peter said over him, and Neal bit his lip, fighting down a grin. He looked back down at his sketch.

“Is that so?” Elizabeth said, and Neal could tell that she, too, was struggling not to smile.

“Yeah. Got a nice atmosphere.”

 _Are you gonna ask her, or what?_ Neal mused to himself as he shaded an eye.

“Well, it sounds lovely. I’ll have to have dinner there sometime.”

With a nod, Peter worried his lip between his teeth. “You should.” he said, smacking his lips.

 _Oh my God, am I going to have to do this for you_? Neal looked across at Elizabeth with a bright smile. “You know,” he said. “Peter’s made this place sound great. You wanna get some dinner there tomorrow night?”

Peter’s mouth dropped open, but Neal pretended not to see. Elizabeth did the same.

“I’d love to, Nick, thank you.” she said with a small smile.

Peter snapped his mouth shut and glared at the screen of his computer. Neal watched him with a grin for a few moments, trying not to chuckle as the agent jabbed at the keyboard.

Eventually he took pity on him. “Hey, you should come too, Peter.”

Peter looked across to Elizabeth, who nodded. “You should, unless you can’t? I mean, I don’t know if you’re allowed to go to dinner with witnesses out of hours, but–”

“Well this is pretty open and shut.” Peter interrupted, leaning back in his chair. “It’ll probably be done by tomorrow.”

 _That is incredibly untrue_ , Neal thought to himself, but he didn’t say anything. “Well, it’s a date.” he said instead. He got up from his chair and handed the pad to Peter. “Here’s your sketch, so am I free to go?”

“You’re not a suspect.” Peter said with a smile as he, too, got to his feet. “But yeah, you can go. I’ll walk you to the elevator.” He looked down at Elizabeth. “I’ve got a couple more questions for you, Elizabeth, if you don’t mind staying?”

“I’d be happy to.” Elizabeth replied, blinking up at him. Peter maintained eye contact with her for a few more seconds, until Neal cleared his throat and the agent jolted, looking towards Neal as if he’d forgotten he was there.

“Right,” he said. “Let’s go.”

The two of them walked back through the bullpen, and as they waited for the elevator to arrive, Peter glanced across at him.

“You and Elizabeth,” he began. “Are you…?” He trailed off, and Neal smiled at his implication.

“Just friends.” he replied. “Well, barely. We’ve known each other for a couple of weeks.”

“Right,” Peter said, nodding and looking down at the floor. “So you’re not–”

"No.” Neal interrupted. “I’ve got a… someone.” he finished lamely. Peter looked like he wanted to question that but Neal continued before he could say anything. “She’s all yours.”

Peter shifted and cleared his throat. Neal noticed he’d been doing that frequently these past forty minutes. “If she’d have me.” he muttered.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Neal smiled across at Peter and patted his shoulder. “She’d be lucky to.” he said, fishing for any meaningless platitude. What did Peter want him to say? He didn’t even know him.

Well, the dinner he’d spontaneously arranged would change that. “See you tomorrow.” he said, and stepped into the elevator. He turned around and watched as the doors closed on a contemplative Peter.


	3. Chapter 3

“Neal, since when do you fraternise with the enemy in your spare time?”

Neal paused in his perusal of the gallery’s blueprints, looking up as Mozzie entered. “How did you–”

“I had to be sure you didn’t tell your FBI buddy about me yesterday.”

“You bugged me? Really?” Neal said with an exasperated sigh as he patted down his pockets. “Where?”

“Your right shoe.”

“For God’s sake,” Neal muttered bending down to unlace his shoe as Mozzie sat down at the table opposite him. “And Peter’s not my enemy; I haven’t actually done anything he can prove.”

“Since when is he ‘Peter’? You’re on a first-name basis, now? Neal, he _is_ your enemy, and this dinner date you’ve arranged with him is gonna speed up the time it takes for him to figure out who you are.”

“Number one,” Neal said as he sat back up, folding his hands on the table. “It’s not a dinner date; Peter’s after Elizabeth and I set it up, so it’s _their_ dinner date. And number two: _he won’t figure it out_. There’s no reason for him to connect Nick Halden with Neal Caffrey.”

“ _Number one_ ,” Mozzie snapped. “If it’s a date between the Fed and Elizabeth then why are you going? And _number two_ , how could he _not_ put it together when you rob the same gallery as the one he's investigating?”

“By then we’ll be long gone.” Neal replied.

“Yeah, and the FBI will have a lot more info on you than they do now. We’d have to burn Nick Halden, for a start.”

Neal didn’t reply. Mozzie watched him for a few moments, rolling his eyes while his friend ignored him.

“It’s too risky.” he said quietly. “It’d be best to leave for a couple months and then come back to Kate’s painting.”

“No.” Neal replied. “We’re doing this now. So are you going to sit there and criticise everything or are you going to go over these plans with me?”

* * *

It was later that day when Neal arrived at the Italian restaurant. He was moments away from stepping inside when he happened to see Peter Burke sat in a parked car nearby, frowning down at something Neal couldn’t see. He debated for a few moments before moving away from the restaurant and striding over, a small smile taking its place on his face.

He tapped on the window and grinned when Peter jumped. The agent looked up and relaxed when he saw him, and when Neal went on to point at the passenger seat, he nodded and unlocked the doors.

“Hey,” Neal greeted as he slid into the car, delicately shifting an empty soda cup from the seat. Peter took it off him and shoved it behind them.

“Sorry.” he said. “No one’s been in my car for a while so there’s been no reason to clean up.”

“Aside from personal hygiene?” Neal muttered, tucking his feet away from the newspapers spread over the floor.

“It’s not that bad.” Peter responded, snatching the papers Neal had been avoiding and chucking them out of sight too. A couple of files were appointed to the back seat as well.

Neal pointed at them. “Working on the case?” he asked.

Peter hummed an affirmative. “It’s pretty basic but we didn’t get a very clear picture of the guy on the CCTV.” he answered. “I’ve been reviewing all of the footage from every room of the gallery and so far it’s given me zilch.”

“Sounds riveting.” Neal responded, looking out of the window at passer-by’s.

“Well I’m glad it bores you, I shouldn’t really be talking about it anyway.”

Neal shrugged. “What am I gonna do with the information?” he asked, glancing back over to Peter. “You get anywhere with the sketch I gave you?”

“We had a few witnesses in today and yesterday, and aside from agreeing that your portrait looked like him, we’ve had no luck in actually getting an identity. Seems like no one spoke to him while he was there.”

“What about the kid? Wasn’t he paid to create a diversion?”

Peter sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. “Yeah, but again, he didn’t get a name. He was given $50 and he happily did it. He didn’t know him, and he said that the guy didn’t give him a reason why he had to do it, so it’s back to square one.” He shrugged and leaned his elbow on the window’s edge, his head resting in his palm.

“Here’s an idea,” Neal began, but Peter held up his hand.

“No offence, but you can’t be involved in this. You’re a witness.” he said, looking across to Neal with a serious expression.

“It’s just a suggestion.” Neal offered, and Peter shook his head in amusement.

“I don’t care. I don’t want to hear it.”

“You’re telling me that I’m a witness so I can’t be involved, but we’re sitting in your car waiting to have dinner in a restaurant just so you can hook up with another witness. How’s that fair?” he retorted.

Peter was silent as he turned to look out the window, the back of his head the only view Neal was granted. Neal waited for a response, but when Peter crossed his arms, he began to grin.

“Are you sulking?” he asked.

"No,” Peter replied gruffly. “I was thinking.”

“About what?”

“About a way to get you to leave without being mean.”

"You like insulting me, don’t you?” Neal said, leaning against his window and looking at Peter with raised eyebrows. “Yesterday, you called me self-absorbed, now you’re trying to get me out of a dinner that _I_ arranged. What kind of an FBI agent are you?”

“One that’s spotted our third companion.” he replied. “Come on, out of the car.”

Neal rolled his eyes but obeyed and as he was shutting the car door, he called to Peter’s retreating back, “A mean one, was the right answer.” He found himself grinning at their exchange and he quickly removed it as he walked over to Peter and Elizabeth, who were stood outside the restaurant.

He greeted Elizabeth and the three of them went inside. As they were escorted to a table, Neal watched as Peter leaned closer to talk to Elizabeth, a hand creeping to the small of her back. Neal ended up sat next to Elizabeth with Peter sat opposite her, and he wondered if he was going to be staring at the empty chair across from him all evening.

As they waited for their orders to arrive, Elizabeth leaned across to Peter. “Well, I’m liking this restaurant.” she said.

 _We’ve barely sat down_ , Neal thought.

Peter smiled back at her. “Good.” he replied. “Wait ‘til the food arrives.”

She responded with a smile of her own as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “So how’s the case going?”

“Slowly.” Neal said before Peter could say anything. The FBI agent shot him a look.

“We’re getting there.” he added. “A new lead will pop up sooner or later.”

“That’s too bad.” Elizabeth said, leaning back in her seat with a small frown. “Didn’t you say it’d be wrapped up by now?”

Neal grinned at Peter around the waiter who was setting down their drinks. Peter shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Yeah, well, a few obstacles came up that I wasn’t counting on.”

Elizabeth didn’t look convinced. “I’m surprised you still came today. Surely the FBI has a thing about dating witnesses important to a case?” She crossed her arms.

Neal rested his face in his hands and waited for Peter’s answer.

“Ye-es,” The agent drew out the word slowly, looking down at the table. “But…” He looked across at Neal, as if he was going to help him out of this. Neal solemnly shook his head. He glanced at Elizabeth, who was waiting for Peter to finish with a  raised eyebrow.

"The thing is,” Peter started. “You’re… smiling?” He was watching Elizabeth – who had cracked a small smile – with a wary expression. Neal grinned again behind his fingers. He liked watching Peter get flustered; the tips of his ears turned red and he began fiddling with the nearest thing: hence the fork held in a crushing grip.

"Don’t look so panicked.” Elizabeth said, letting her smile grow. She tilted her hear and gazed at him sympathetically. “For the record, I think it’s cute.”

He visibly relaxed and returned a shy smile.

“I think it’s adorable.” Neal added. Peter shot him an exasperated look.

Their food arrived soon after and the three of them dug in. Neal couldn’t help watching Peter as he reacted to things Elizabeth said or did. He laughed a lot, and his eyes crinkled when he did and made him look younger. Sometimes he blushed at Elizabeth’s comments, and his gaze would drop to the table and he’d start fiddling with the cutlery. His smile, though, belonged on a masterpiece, and Neal would happily look at in a gallery all day.

That sudden and unprompted thought had him staring down at his spaghetti for a minute.

It was as he was finishing his meal that Neal spoke again. “I do have a plan that would relieve Peter of his problem regarding you and the FBI.” he said to Elizabeth, who raised an eyebrow to show she was listening. “But he doesn’t want to hear it.”

She glanced over to Peter. “You don’t? Why?”

The agent glared at Neal for bringing it up. “Because I can’t involve you in the case.” he told her. “Something could go wrong and you might get hurt.”

“Are you talking to me or Elizabeth? Because it’s my idea.”

Peter bit back a smile. “You’re not getting involved, alright?”

“Alright, fine.” Neal said, leaning back in his chair. He tapped Elizabeth’s arm. “Wanna know what I’d do if I was an FBI agent?”

“Sure.” Elizabeth said, turning to him with a smile and ignoring the frustrated noise Peter made.

“Well, using my skills as an artist – skills you happen to know about,” He nodded to Elizabeth, who smiled brightly. “I’d forge the painting he made. Then, using a contact the FBI _must_ have,” He glanced at Peter, trying not to react to the fact that Peter seemed to be interested in what he was suggesting, “I’d take responsibility for the robbery and try to sell the piece.”

“And then the robber would claim he has the original, but in order to do that he’d expose himself.” Peter finished, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Exactly.” Neal said triumphantly, unable to contain a smile of his own while Peter was looking at him.

“Are you gonna be mad if I claim that as my idea?” Peter asked.

“Why would I? Go for it.” Neal said, opening his arms in a welcoming gesture with another bright smile.

“It’s not a bad idea, Nick.” Peter acknowledged, missing the smile that dropped from Neal’s face. “But apart from this, you’re not getting involved.”

“Of course not.” he replied softly, crossing his arms. “I’ll get started on it now, if you like.”

“Now?” Elizabeth repeated, frowning at him. “But we’re still eating.”

“Eh, I’m not feeling dessert.” he said as he got to his feet, leaving some money on the table. “I’ll leave you guys to it. Have fun.”

He left then, trying to forget the bemused expression on Peter’s face as he exited the restaurant.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a huge fan of this chapter, and I'm really sorry it's so short, but I felt super bad for not posting in ages and I wanted to give you guys something. I do have parts of what was meant to be the rest of this chapter written up, so the next one should be along shortly.

It had gone midnight and Neal was stood staring at a half-finished painting resting on his easel. A painting he had promised Peter he'd provide for him so they could replicate the stolen one.

What was he doing?

He was supposed to be focusing on Kate, not buddying up to FBI agents. Moz was right, this was way too risky for them.

He was unsure what it was about Peter that made Neal say yes to him, but that something was dangerous if he was going to take this painting for Kate. It needed to stop, starting with the forgery he was in the middle of now.

Well, he wasn't going to throw away a perfectly good replica. _After_ he finished it, then. He'll back off once it was completed, no matter how interesting he found Peter and his investigation.

With that decision made, Neal picked up his paintbrush and continued with the forgery whilst internally picking a date to rob the gallery of Kate's favourite painting. As Moz had said, it needed to be sooner rather than later if he wanted to keep off the FBI's radar. Fraternising with Peter had been foolish, but that was going to stop now. He'd leave he and Elizabeth to flirt 24/7 and stay the hell out of it, even if he did find watching Peter become ruffled funny.

He wondered what Kate would say if she knew how much time he'd been spending with Peter. Even though it had only been a couple of days, an hour or so with the law was too long, and Neal had hung out with the agent for more than an hour.

He glanced across at the clock hung on the wall and, seeing that it was gone midnight, put down his paintbrush. He might as well try and sleep, even if he had been finding it elusive tonight. He could plan better tomorrow, after he'd hopefully slept on the matter to wake with a clearer head. Maybe he could give Moz a call so they could rehearse the heist one more time.

The plan was to get the staff of the gallery to remove the painting from its room, making it much easier to take. Using the blueprints Neal and Moz had identified a storage room near the back of the building where the painting was most likely to be placed once it had been taken down. What they couldn't agree on, though, was how to get the painting out of the room in the first place.

Moz had suggested having someone touch the painting, but that was the unlikeliest of solutions now that someone had already done that at the very same gallery. And anyhow, Neal had argued, there was no guarantee that staff would actually take the piece down.

There had been a very brief debate about whether to damage it slightly, but the pair had quickly agreed that it was too risky for the painting. Neal didn't want Kate to have a tainted masterpiece and Moz had refused to be the one damaging if they did go through with it.

That left Neal's newly formed plan, one he hadn't shared with Moz yet. He reckoned that, being a small gallery, they wouldn't carry out cleanings and restorations regularly because it tended to be expensive. They probably didn't even have staff capable of maintaining the conservation of the pieces in the first place. If Neal and Moz posed as a company that announced that their desired piece needed cleaning, they'd be able to take it themselves. Moz would have to be the one to interact with the staff, though, since Neal had apparently decided to be besties with Elizabeth.

Yet another thing he was regretting. He ignored the faint pang of guilt at the thought of the potential repercussions for Elizabeth if he and Moz succeeded in the robbery.

As he climbed into his small bed, he stared up at the dilapidated ceiling, pulling a face when he spotted mould growing in the far corner. He and Moz needed to go soon, otherwise the likely infection he'd develop would be the least of his worries.

* * *

 Amazingly, Neal slept reasonably well and he'd woken up with a new determination to get out of New York as soon as possible, even if he did love the city. He swung himself out of bed and absently grabbed his phone, padding over to the tiny kitchenette in the corner. While the kettle was boiling, Neal was frowning down at his phone. An unknown number had texted him a few hours ago, instructing him to meet someone near Elizabeth's gallery.

Neal wasn't sure what to make of it. It could be an innocent wrong number, accidentally texting him instead of a wife or husband or something. But the naming of the very gallery he was planning to steal from had thrown him, making this text appear as a thinly veiled threat.

But it was impossible for anyone to know what he was up to. He and Moz had only ever discussed it in this small apartment, and Moz would have used some sort of code to identify himself in the text if it was him. And besides, he would have known if his unusual friend had changed numbers.

Which meant he was back to the potential threat-that-wasn't-a-threat-because-who-else-knew. He supposed the only thing he could do was go to this meeting, which was to start at 8pm. Neal supposed that nothing bad ever really happened at 8pm: at least it wasn't midnight. That gave him the rest of the day to scheme with Moz.

* * *

8 o'clock rolled around soon enough, and Neal left Moz in his apartment to go over the blueprints of the gallery and make sure nothing had been missed. Moz had agreed with the plan to pose as conservationists, though he was a little less enthusiastic about being the front man. Still, it was the best plan they'd come up with and so Moz had promised to find uniforms and fake IDs once he'd found a van to use as a means of removing the painting once it had been allocated to the storage room.

It was for the best he didn't know about this meeting, Neal had decided. He would have become paranoid for no reason and insisted on leaving then and there. And that was not going to happen, not while he didn't have Kate's painting in his possession.

He reached the gallery twenty minutes later, and the closer Neal got the more he slowed down. He couldn't see anyone ominous. Nobody was encasing themselves in the shadows and glaring at him. The place was deserted, as far as he could tell. Neal stopped outside the entrance to the gallery and glanced up at the door, absently noting that it closed in an hour. It was strange that it stayed open so late, but Neal wasn't there to quiz the staff on their opening hours.

Ten minutes later and Neal had taken to leaning against the side of the gallery, his back to an empty alleyway. He was glanced down at his watch and sighed, wondering if he was wasting his time. Perhaps it really was a wrong number.

"Hey, Caffrey, sorry to keep you waiting."

Perhaps not.

Neal stiffened at the voice behind him, and he suddenly regretted not telling Moz where he was headed. When he turned around, Matthew Keller was there, studying him with a coy smile.


	5. Chapter 5

"Keller," Neal acknowledged warily. "What a pleasant surprise."

"You’re looking good, Caffrey,” Keller said with a smirk. “Single life must suit you."

Neal didn’t rise to the bait, instead he raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “What do you want?"

"What, I can’t call to chat?"

"Well, sure, there’s a Starbucks down the street, let’s go." Neal responded, and Keller’s smirk widened.

"Nah, I’m here for a reason." Keller said, slowly walking backwards down the alley.

"And what’s that?” Neal asked, staying put at the entrance. "You planning to rob them or something?" He gestured at the gallery next to them.

"Maybe not tonight." Keller said, looking up at the building. "I’m here to offer a challenge, Caffrey."

Neal laughed, shaking his head. "Really?" he asked. "Alright, I’ll bite. What sort of challenge?"

"A theft." Keller said, regarding Neal with a serious gaze, his smirk vanishing. "First person to steal the piece wins."

"What’s the piece?" Neal asked, but he was already bored with the conversation.

"I’m gonna let you decide that, Caffrey." Keller said, pointing at him as he spoke. "The only rule is that it’s valuable."

"Why would you let me decide?" Neal asked with a frown. "That’s only gonna make it harder for you.”

"Don’t be getting cocky already, Caffrey." he said. He gave a shrug. "I’m feelin’ generous."

"It’s not much of a challenge for me if I’m choosing." Neal responded, his frown still visible. "I’m not interested, Keller.”

"Well then _make_ it a challenge. You don’t have to pick something you know you can get." Keller shrugged again. "Pick a piece that’s equally hard for both of us."

Neal regarded him for a long moment, taking in the relaxed posture of his opponent. "What’s your angle?"

Keller held out his hands placatingly. "Just looking for a little fun, Neal. I’m bored, what can I say."

"No, you want something. What is it?"

Keller rolled his eyes, leaning against a wall halfway down the alley. "Just name the piece and let’s start." he said, tilting his head to look at Neal.

Neal shook his head and started backing away. "Not interested. See you around Keller." He turned and stuck his hands in his pockets, debating whether to catch a cab home.

"Who’s Elizabeth?" Keller called.

Neal stopped in his tracks, a brief rush of panic washing through him. He spun back around to face Keller, who was looking down at his feet, but even from where he was standing Neal could see that his smirk had returned.

"She works here, right?" he asked, looking to Neal for an answer. Neal forced himself to appear calm. Keller looked at his watch. "I think her shift finishes soon actually."

"I don’t know anyone called Elizabeth." Neal answered with a shrug.

"Really, Caffrey?" Keller asked with raised eyebrows. "You’re gonna play dumb with me? You see, I was here a week ago, looking for you, buddy. And most days I watched you leave this gallery with her." he said, tapping the wall he was leaning against.

Neal slowly began stalking forwards, his fists clenched.

"So I looked her up." Keller continued, pushing himself off of the wall. "Didn’t realise you got over Kate so quickly."

"It’s not like that." Neal answered, his voice quiet as he glared daggers at the other man. "I barely know her."

"Don’t quite believe you, Caffrey, sorry. So I figured, if you didn’t wanna take my challenge, I’d have a little chat with her, you know? Get to know the girl who’s captured your attention."

Neal surged forwards and slammed Keller against the wall, barely refraining from gripping the man’s throat. "You do that and you get an FBI agent after you." he hissed.

"What, you’d run to the FBI?" Keller asked, his face the picture of incredulity. "How dumb do you think I am?"

"Dumb enough to not notice that she’s _dating a fed_." Keller didn’t need to know that Peter was actually incompetent at asking Elizabeth out on a date. "Don’t believe me, check it out for yourself, she’s going over to his after her shift." Elizabeth had texted him that morning asking if he wanted to come over to watch a game at Peter’s and Neal, sticking to his plan to back off from the agent, had declined. The last thing he wanted to do was get them involved with Keller, but if one night of tailing his friends meant they’d be left alone, he’d have to deal with it.

Keller must have finally sensed he was telling the truth, for he nodded slightly. "Alright, Caffrey, alright." Neal shoved him once more before backing away to the opposite wall. He saw Keller gesture at something and as he turned his head he noticed someone disappearing from the entrance of the alley.

"So now you’ve got no leverage and I’m leaving." Neal growled.

"I mean, there’s always Kate."

"You don’t know where she is." If he couldn’t find her then there was no way Keller could.

"Maybe not, but hey, how about if I win I get her?" he said with a sickening grin.

"She’s not a prize to be won." Neal snapped.

"True, but perhaps she’d choose me anyway. I mean, she’s clearly bored of you, and I know she’s a sucker for shiny things."

"Whatever, Keller." Neal said, heading back towards the alley as he tried to rein in his temper. "Steal whatever you want and try to win her over, I don’t care." He knew Kate wasn’t materialistic, she was sentimental. The painting he was after would be what she preferred.

"Come on, Caffrey, admit it. Beating me would feel real good, right?"

Yes it would. It would feel so good. But Neal had too much to be dealing with at the moment. Maybe once he’d shaken off Peter and taken Kate’s painting, he’d think about getting back in touch. Now, though, he was too pissed to say yes.

He turned once more towards Keller. “Another time, Keller." he said, though he was doubtful there would be another time. Not after he’d threatened Elizabeth.

"Don’t say no to this, Caffrey. You’ll regret it." Keller warned, and Neal straightened at the threat in his tone.

"Why the hell do you want to do this so badly?" he asked. All he got was a shrug, and before Keller could actually respond, Neal heard a shout from behind him.

"Nick?"

Neal turned at the sound of his alias to see Peter Burke jogging over to him from across the street. He didn’t know how the agent had spotted him standing halfway down an alley, but he was fairly sure he hadn’t seen Keller.

"Friend of yours, Neal?" Keller asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Shut the hell up." Neal snapped, striding forward to try and meet Peter before he started down the alley. Peter had been going faster than he judged, though, and the agent came to a stop a few feet after the entrance.

"Peter, what are you doing here?" he asked, moving closer to him in the hopes that he’d instinctively take a few steps back. He didn’t move, though, meaning they were standing unusually close to each other. Peter was frowning at him slightly, but that was the only reaction he gave.

"I’m here to pick El up. What are you doing here?" he asked. "You normally hang out in dark alleys?"

"Oh, sure, most days in fact." Neal responded with a false laugh, gripping Peter’s arm and moving with him as the agent tried to look past him. "Hey, since when is she ‘El’?" Neal asked, quenching the rising panic that was making his heart pound against his ribcage.

"What? Oh, I dunno, I said it the other night at the restaurant after you left and it kinda stuck." Peter answered, momentarily distracted from trying to peer down the alleyway by Neal’s questions. "And hey, you left a little promptly, was everything ok?" He squeezed Neal’s arm as he asked, worry in his tone. Neal forced himself to ignore the part of him that was pleased Peter had been concerned by reminding himself that Keller was stood behind him.

"Everything was fine, Peter, don’t worry." Neal replied with a bright smile. “Come on, I’ll wait with you for Elizabeth, let’s go."

As he was spinning Peter he glanced behind him. Keller had his arms crossed and was watching them with a curious gaze that Neal absolutely did not like the look of. When he met Neal’s eyes he raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t let Peter near Keller – even if it was unknowingly on Peter’s part – for another second.

Peter suddenly tensed under his arm and Neal turned in time to see a man in black take a swing at the agent with the butt of a gun. With a grip still on Peter’s arm, he yanked him back and caught the swinging gun with his other hand. He used the momentum of their attacker to steer him towards the wall, tripping him up so that the guy collided into the bricks with a grunt.

He wasn’t knocked unconscious, though, and Neal prepared himself as he got back up. A sudden shout distracted him, though, and he looked to see Peter drop to the ground, his eyes closed and blood trickling from his temple. Keller was stood behind him, holding his own gun.

"Don’t." he said sharply, and Neal watched as the man backed away from him, lowering his weapon.

"Who’s Nick?" Keller asked, watching as Neal knelt next to Peter.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Keller?" he yelled, gently rolling Peter onto his back and shaking his shoulders slightly. "You just attacked an FBI agent."

"He important to you, Neal?" Keller crouched opposite him, on the other side of Peter.

"What? No. Get the hell out of here before I call the cops."

"And you’ll be the only one with him. There’s no CCTV down here and they’ll look you up, and what are they gonna find?" he asked with a grin. "Nice try but I don’t scare so easily."

"You didn’t have to attack him, I was trying to get him away from you. That was for your benefit too, you know."

"Come on, Caffrey, I’m not stupid. You don’t give a damn about me. You give several damns about this guy, though." he said, prodding the agent’s shoulder with a finger. Neal forced himself not to lunge across Peter and tackle him.

" _Get out of here_." he growled.

Keller smirked one last time before rising to his feet. He stepped over Peter and strolled down the alley, his hired muscle following him.

"Better hear from you soon, Neal." he called, disappearing down the street.


	6. Chapter 6

"Peter, hey, can you hear me?"

Neal tapped Peter’s cheek again as he bit down on the frustration rising within him. He’d been so careless and now his friend was hurt because of him.

Now Keller knew about Peter.

He didn’t want to think what that might mean for him. Keller was adamant about this challenge he’d laid, and Neal had no idea why Keller was so determined they do it. It wasn’t like it was an impossible challenge and so the stakes were higher; Neal could easily pick a piece he knew he could get to before his opponent. He prayed that Keller wouldn’t set his sights on Peter – or Elizabeth, for that matter – now that he’d said no.

He decided to think about that later, Peter was his top priority right now. He shook the agent’s shoulders, his gaze drawn to the stark blood trickling down his pale face.

"Peter? Come on, wake up."

He was halfway to his phone to dial an ambulance when Peter groaned, his head rolling towards Neal as a frown creased his forehead.

"Hey, Peter? Open your eyes, come on."

Peter responded, but it was obvious he did not want to do it. His eyelids drifted open and he gazed blearily at Neal, squinting at him through the pain.

"Nick?" he croaked. He made to touch his head but Neal intercepted him and caught his hand, laying it back on the ground.

"Do you know what day it is?" he demanded, and Peter thought for a moment.

"Saturday?" he asked, and Neal nodded. "Wha’ happened?" he added. Neal frowned at both the slur in his voice and his question.

"You don’t remember?" A small part of him was pleased at that – it meant he wasn’t going to be asking questions about Keller – but the rest of him was brimming with worry.

"No." Peter replied, wincing as he leant back on his elbows. Neal laid a hand on his shoulder, having expected him to try to get to his feet. The agent didn’t, though, but with the help of Neal he slowly sat up. His eyes were screwed shut and his head was still bleeding, and Neal found he couldn’t take his eyes off it. Peter was in pain because of him, this could have been avoided if he’d just ignored that text.

 _He might have gone after Elizabeth regardless_ , he argued internally, and that thought flooded him with dread. This wasn’t his fault, it was Keller’s. God, he had to get out of New York as soon as he could, if not to get away from Peter’s inevitable realisation about who he really was, but also to keep them out of Keller’s sights.

"What – no, wait, don’t do that." He was drawn from his thoughts as Peter started using the wall to drag himself up.

"Hey, slow down a minute." Neal said, clambering to his feet and gripping Peter’s arm. The agent straightened up and the guilt Neal was feeling increased tenfold when Peter bowed his head and took deep breaths, swaying slightly.

"You alright?" he asked. "You’re not gonna throw up, are you?"

Peter held up a finger and Neal nodded slightly, his grip loosening on his friend’s arm but not disappearing completely.

"M’okay." Peter muttered. "Just need to sleep it off."

"Oh, no. We are going to hospital." Neal argued, tugging him towards the street.

"No, I’m fine." Peter responded, resisting the efforts to get him to walk.

"You were unconscious.” Neal snapped, starting to become irritated with Peter’s stupidity, along with everything else that had happened this evening. "And I’m not getting visits from the FBI because I let one of their agents die, so come on."

Peter fell into silence and let Neal guide him to the edge of the sidewalk. He stood slumped slightly as Neal paced up and down, his fingers tapping his leg while they waited for a cab.

"El." Peter murmured.

"I’ll let her know." Neal said tersely, digging in his pocket and pulling out his phone. He fired a text to Elizabeth, telling her that Peter wasn’t going to be able to see her tonight because he’d been hurt. He added that he’d be fine once they’d gone to hospital, and he’d get Peter to ring her tomorrow. He wondered what had made him say yes when Elizabeth had insisted on getting his phone number. Yet another thing to be rid of once he left.

Peter seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "You have El’s number?" he asked, pointing at the phone with a frown.

Neal raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.” he said with an eye roll.

"M’not." Peter said, looking down at his shoes.

"You want to read the texts, Peter? Here." He thrust the phone into Peter’s chest and the agent clutched it, watching Neal step forward into the road to attract a nearby cab. The car pulled up and Neal let Peter in first, a hand on his back as he sat down with a groan. Once Neal was settled, they car pulled away in the direction of the hospital.

He felt his phone drop in his lap and Neal pocketed it whilst staring out the window, avoiding looking at Peter.

Twenty minutes later they were seated in a waiting room, a clock ticking loudly on the wall they were sat in front of while they waited to be seen to. Holding a piece of gauze to his head, Peter squirmed in his chair, and though Neal was feeling equally uncomfortable, he found his frustration rising the more Peter’s chair squeaked.

"Could you stop that? Please?" he asked after five more minutes of squeaking. Peter looked across at him with a frown, his expression pitiful with the bloodstained gauze he was holding.

"Have I done something?"

Neal ran a hand through his hair. "No." he sighed. He couldn’t stop thinking about Keller and he kept replaying the moment Peter had been hit over and over again in his mind, wishing he’d been more observant. He should have known Keller had his own weapon and wouldn’t be afraid to get his hands dirty.

"I didn’t read the texts, if that’s what–"

"It’s not you, Peter, alright?" Neal interrupted. "I mean, yes, you were being stupid about Elizabeth and not wanting to come here and that pissed me off, but I’m not angry anymore."

"Okay." Peter responded quietly. At that moment, a doctor stepped out and called Peter’s name. The agent looked across at Neal and he straightened under the gaze.

"You want me to come with you?" he asked, preparing to stand.

"No, it’s fine. I’m good." Peter said. Neal nodded and watched as he followed the doctor into an examination room.

He could already sense Peter drawing away from him, and though there was nothing he wanted more than to wrap Peter in blankets and swear vengeance on Keller, he _had_ to put some distance between them. The more he interacted with him, the more likely he was to be found out and the more danger he was putting him in now that Keller was in town.

His phone buzzed with a text and he opened it to find a suggestion from Elizabeth that she come and pick Peter up so she could keep an eye on him overnight. As much as he wanted to tell her no, he’d look after the agent, he found himself writing yes whilst ignoring the disappointed feeling settling in his stomach. Peter would much prefer to be cared for by her, anyway.

When she came back asking if they were going to be at his apartment, Neal cursed himself for telling her where he lived when he’d once left his hat at the gallery and she’d offered to return it. Honestly, what was _wrong_ with him? Now if – _when_ – Peter found out the truth about him he’d only have to ask Elizabeth and he’d have his address. With another sigh, he replied by saying they’d wait at the hospital for her.

The doctor leant in the doorway of her examination room and gestured Neal over. He rose and covered the short distance with a wary frown, wondering what he was needed for.

When he entered he saw Peter sitting on an examination table, his jacket off and tie loosened. He looked exhausted and was sporting a bandage around his head. His hair was mussed and his eyes were drooping and Neal desperately wanted to hug him or something. He hurriedly pushed that thought aside and moved to stand next to Peter, looking at the doctor for a reason why he was there.

"I just wanted to ask some questions regarding the circumstances of his injury." she said, scribbling something down on a clipboard. "You are?"

"Nick Halden." he responded, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Peter nod. He bit back a smile.

"Could you tell me what happened? Peter doesn’t remember anything at the moment, and while that’s perfectly normal, I just want to be sure the head wound is the only thing to worry about."

"We were attacked in an alley." Neal said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. "Two men were there. One of them knocked Peter out. It was just his head that was hit."

"Alright, thank you." She jotted something down. "He’s had stiches so he’ll need to be back in a few days for a check-up and to get them out, and I’m afraid you’ll need to set an alarm tonight so you can check on him every few hours."

"Oh, we’re not…" He trailed off when he felt Peter’s forehead butt his shoulder. _Not helping, Peter._

The doctor was watching them with a disinterested look. "As long as there’s someone to keep an eye on him, I’m not fussed." She gestured to Peter. "I’ve given him some antibiotics so he may be a bit out of it for a while."

"Alright." Neal said. _Well, that’s not my problem anymore_.

"And I’ve got a prescription for him to take every so often, too." She handed him a box. "The instructions are on the back."

"Thank you, Doctor." he said, flashing a smile at her. "Come on, Peter."

Peter slid off the table and Neal grabbed his jacket and took his arm, leading him out. They exited the hospital and Neal directed him to a nearby bench. He wrestled Peter’s jacket back onto him, and when the agent still shivered in the night air, Neal wrapped his coat around him with an eye roll.

Peter stared down at the coat and stroked it slightly with one hand. He frowned across at Neal, who had sat back with his arms crossed.

"Do you want my coat?" Peter asked.

"You’re not wearing a coat, Peter." he replied. "And if I wanted my own coat I wouldn’t have given it to you in the first place."

"Oh."

Neal didn’t react when Peter leant against him with a groan. “What are you doing?” he asked after thirty seconds.

"M’tired." he mumbled. "Thank you for staying with me." He aimlessly patted Neal’s leg.

Neal’s lips twitched and he placed a hand on top of Peter’s, stopping the patting. "You’re welcome." he said, squeezing his hand. He smiled to himself when Peter squeezed back.

"Hey, does your head still hurt?" he asked quietly.

"Only a little. M’just tired now."

"Yeah, you said." Neal responded. "Well, don’t fall asleep on me, alright?"

That’s exactly what he did.

Neal watched him as he dozed on his shoulder, shaking his head with a faint smile. His frustration and irritation had dissipated, and the fear he’d felt earlier tonight when Peter had been knocked unconscious was slowly settling down. He wasn’t sure why he’d been so scared; he’d only known Peter a number of days, and he was ‘the enemy’, as Mozzie liked to say. But the agent kept breaking through his barriers and every time those warm eyes settled on him he wanted to give up on his plan to escape as soon as possible and stay with Peter.

Not only was he worried what those sort of thoughts could mean for him, he also knew he couldn’t do that to Peter. No matter how much he might like him – or whatever it was he was feeling – Peter had his heart set on Elizabeth. And Elizabeth was wonderful, Neal didn’t want her to get hurt because of his selfish feelings. But if Elizabeth had been whiny or arrogant or something, it would be so much harder to leave Peter behind when he fled New York. At least he knew the two had each other and wouldn’t miss him (especially if they found out he’d been lying), and when he found Kate he would be happy too.

Elizabeth arrived five minutes later, and Neal removed Peter’s hand from his leg. She approached the two of them with a grin on her face.

"Not a word." Neal warned.

"I don’t want to wake him up, he looks so peaceful." she said, sitting on Peter’s other side and stroking his arm.

"Well, if you carry him, I’ll hold the car door open."

Elizabeth laughed, her gentle gaze still on Peter. Neal’s smile faded.

"Hey, Peter, your ride’s here." he said, tapping the agent’s leg. Peter grunted and stirred, opening his eyes and glancing at Elizabeth.

"El," he croaked. "What’re you doing here?"

"Fancy a sleepover?" she asked with a smile, and Peter responded with a bright one of his own.

"Sure." he said, and Elizabeth helped him to his feet. She led him to her car with a hand on his back, and Neal watched as Peter snorted at something she said. They looked only at each other, and Neal mildly wondered how they didn’t trip on the curb.

He looked down at his lap, tuning out the tender voices nearby. This was pathetic. He needed to think of Kate and–

A soft hand cupped his cheek and Neal flickered his gaze upwards, finding himself gazing into Elizabeth’s bright blue eyes whilst she crouched in front of him. She wasn’t unlike Kate in her appearance, and Neal could understand why Peter liked looking into her eyes so much.

She perched on the bench next to him and leant forwards, her arms wrapping around his neck. He sat, stunned, for a few moments, before mechanically linking his arms around her back. She drew back and cupped his face, her perfume invading his senses.

"Peter mentioned what happened. Are you alright?" she asked. "Were you hurt, too?"

"I – no." he stuttered, surprised by her question. "I’m fine."

She continued watching him with that piercing gaze, and Neal submitted, flicking his eyes downwards.

"Well, then, thank you for stepping in and helping." she said with a gentle smile, and Neal felt himself returning it.

"No problem." he said softly. "His prescription’s in the coat he’s wearing. Let me know how he is tomorrow?"

"Of course." she responded, pecking him on the cheek. Then, she headed over to the car and got in. Neal could see Peter leaning against the window, asleep by the looks of it, and he absently watched them drive off.

God, he was in too deep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very sorry for taking so long, hope this chapter makes up for it!

Neal had spent the night tossing and turning in his small bed. When it got to four o’clock the following Sunday morning, he gave up and padded over to roast a pot of coffee. While he waited for the kettle to boil he leant against the counter, his elbows resting on the countertop with his head in his hands.

He wasted time for two more hours before deciding six o’clock was an appropriate time to make a call. All he got was Mozzie’s voicemail, though.

"Listen, Moz." he began. "We’re getting that painting tomorrow. Call up the gallery sometime today and let them know our restoration company is coming to pick up a few paintings for check-ups." Neal thought that if they only took one, it would look suspicious. They’d return the others – no need to be greedy – and be long gone by the time the gallery realised they were missing one.

He hung up and tossed his phone onto the bed, glancing at the blueprints laid out on the table. Just two more days, and then he’d be out of here. No more fake names, no more Keller, no more Peter.

As it should be.

His eyes were drawn to a half finished painting in the corner of the room. It was the one he’d promised to forge for Peter, for his investigation into the gallery’s robbery. Neal sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. He had promised.

Alright, fine. He’d finish that forgery, give it to Peter, get Kate’s painting and _then_ he’d be gone. Might as well start now.

And that was how he spent the day: perfecting Peter’s forgery and briefly speaking with Mozzie on the phone, who’d called to say the gallery had agreed to his visit. He was still unhappy about having to be the one to actually deal with people, but Neal had reminded him that Elizabeth was bound to be working then, and they couldn’t risk her spotting him.

As he worked, Neal couldn’t help wondering how Peter was recovering after his attack the night before. Elizabeth had texted him earlier that morning, assuring him that he was fine, if not a little quiet, but Neal still felt a sliver of worry residing in the back of his mind. Every so often he felt the urge to visit Peter, to see with his own eyes that he was getting better, that Keller hadn’t seriously harmed him. Those urges were quickly tampered down and Neal consciously ignored them, forcing himself to think of Kate – as he should be.

By nine in the evening he was done. The forgery was as close to perfect as he could get it, and by then he was sick of the sight of it. It sat on his easel and served as a reminder to Neal that once he was rid of it, he had no reason to stay in New York. He couldn’t afford a reason to stay in New York. As soon as it was handed over to Peter, he’d be gone.

Neal found he’d developed a hatred for this painting.

When a knock at the door interrupted his disdainful glares he was shooting at the forgery, Neal turned with a frown. He doubted Mozzie would be calling, he was most likely still arranging everything for the heist tomorrow. It was strange for anyone else to visit this time of the night.

A small part of him worried that Keller was out there in the hallway, waiting for him with a gun and a threat. It wouldn’t surprise him, and as Neal moved closer he realised he was suddenly furious, ready to confront Keller and make him pay for hurting Peter.

All thoughts of Keller were washed out of his mind, though, when he opened the door to see the man he’d been thinking about all day leaning against the opposite wall.

"Peter." Neal stated, his eyebrows raising. "How did you find–"

"El." he interrupted, and it was when he looked up at Neal – having been staring down at his feet – that Neal was suddenly able to note his dishevelled appearance. His hair was mussed around the bandage on his head, his shirt was unbuttoned at the top, his tie was loosened, and he wore a mildly stunned expression, as if he was surprised Neal had answered the door.

Neal took a few paces out into the hall and moved closer to Peter, wondering what the other was doing here. Peter remained leaning against the wall.

"Are… are you drunk?" Neal asked, fairly certain he could smell alcohol.

"I _was_ drunk, but then I stopped." Peter said, nodding to himself. "Your coat. S'here." He held up the aforementioned clothing that had been folded over his arm. "I stopped drunking to bring it back."

"Oh, well, that’s nice of you." Neal responded, his frown remaining on his face. He gingerly took Peter’s arm and tugged him closer. "Let’s go inside for a bit, yeah?"

"Do you have drinks?" Peter asked.

"Uh, I’ve got wine."

Peter pulled a face as Neal led him to the small sofa. He sank down onto it and looked up at Neal. "I don’t want wine."

"Well, I’ve got nothing else."

Peter grumbled something under his breath, but Neal didn’t catch it. He remained standing in front of him, still unsure what to do now that a drunk Peter was in his home. Hell, Peter was never supposed to find out where he lived. He could only hope his friend was drunk enough to be unable to remember his address in the morning.

That thought then brought up the question of what he was supposed to do with Peter.

"Here, give me your coat." he said, leaning down to help Peter unravel himself from it. Three black, circular discs clattered to the floor having escaped from a pocket.

"What are these?" Neal asked, mostly to himself because he’d assumed Peter was too out of it to have noticed.

"Trackers." Peter replied, thudding onto his knees and picking one up as Neal collected the others. "Diff’rent from some others we got. These turn on themselves."

Neal frowned. "What?"

The agent thrust his tracker in Neal’s face. "I mean, there’s no… no transmitter or anything that turns it on. You turn these on and then place them wherever."

"Ok. That’s… fascinating."

"You can have this one." Peter grabbed Neal’s arm and brought him closer, popping the tracker into an inside pocket of Neal’s suit jacket.

"How kind of you." Neal replied, helping Peter back onto the sofa and rolling his eyes when the other man flopped down onto it, one arm covering his eyes. Neal got to his feet and deposited the other two trackers back in Peter’s coat, folding that and his own coat over the back of a chair. "What’s the matter, then?"

"M’tired." Peter said. "Head hurts."

Guilt trickled down his spine, and Neal paused at the table for a moment. "Oh." he said. "Is it getting any better?"

"A lil’." he mumbled. "But I don’t wanna go in tomorrow."

"Into work?"

"Yeah." Peter answered with a heavy sigh.

"Well then call in sick." Neal suggested, heading over to his kitchenette and pouring a glass of water.

"Can’t." Neal rolled his eyes. "Have to interview a CI tomorrow. Said they recon… recongi…" Peter trailed off, and Neal looked over his shoulder at him.

"Recognised?"

Peter fluttered a hand in his direction. "Recognised someone, yeah. At the gallery."

"Handy." Neal said, heading back and removing Peter’s arm from his face. "Sit up and drink this."

"Why?” he asked, frowning at the proffered glass and leaning away from it. "I don’ like water."

"Nobody _likes_ water, but you’ll thank me in the morning. Come on."

"No." Peter pushed his hand away. "I wanna stay like this." He gestured vaguely at himself.

"Fine. Whatever." Neal headed back to the kitchenette, placing the drink on the counter. "Why are you drunk on a Sunday night, anyway?" He bent down to open a cupboard and rummaged through it in search of aspirin. He had a feeling Peter would be wanting some later on. "And why did you come here?"

"Wanted to stop thinking." He heard Peter say. "Couldn’t think ‘round El."

"Lover’s tiff?" Neal teased, though internally he wondered what on earth Peter was talking about.

Peter didn’t reply, and a few seconds later Neal located the aspirin. He straightened and turned, only to barrel straight into Peter, who had apparently snuck up behind him.

The two of them crashed to the floor, Neal jarring his back as Peter landed on top of him. The bottle of aspirin rolled across the aged floorboards.

"What the hell was that for?" he grunted, screwing his eyes shut as he waited for the pain in his back and head to pass. Peter had made no move to get off of him, and for a heart-stopping second Neal thought he had hit his head, too, only with worse consequences.

When he opened his eyes, though, Peter was not unconscious. Instead, he was looking down at him with a frown, his arms casing Neal’s head.

Neal patted his side. "Come on, Peter, move. You’re hurting my ribs." That was, admittedly, one of the reasons why Neal wanted Peter out of his personal space, the other reason was due to the quickening of his heart that – he’d come to accept – he had no control over.

The agent was still frowning at him, his eyes skimming over Neal’s face. "Your eyes look like El’s." he said, his voice quiet.

Neal returned the frown. "Many people have blue eyes, Peter." He hadn’t missed how the agent’s gaze had moved from his eyes to his lips has he spoke. His mouth had gone dry, suddenly, and he was finding it difficult to breathe – and not just because Peter was still atop him.

"You’re diff’rent from her, though." Peter muttered, almost to himself. His head kept bobbing slightly, and Neal had to remind himself that he was drunk, and clearly not thinking properly.

"Yes I am. Well observed." he said, trying to sound calm and collected even while his insides were churning. He couldn’t ignore how he enjoyed having Peter’s warmth against him, and oh God, he needed to get out of this situation soon.

Peter’s face was gradually getting closer, still nodding faintly from intoxication. "You… you held m’hand yesterday. At th’ hosp’tal."

"Yes I did." Neal said, his voice equally as quiet. "You were in pain, I was trying to help."

The agent’s gaze never strayed from his mouth. "It did." he mumbled. "I… liked it."

Peter’s tongue poked out to wet his lips, then, and Neal found he couldn’t look away. "Peter," he said, trailing off as the other man dipped his head closer to Neal’s.

Peter gave a small smile, and Neal knew then and there that he would give him anything. "Yeah, Nick?"

It was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on him. Suddenly, Neal wanted to get as far away from Peter as possible, to escape the man who didn’t even know his real name. If Peter ever learned his true identity, this sort of situation would never be possible. And yet, Neal didn’t _want_ this situation to occur while the agent didn’t know who he was. He felt as though his heart was being tugged in different directions, and while he knew he could stop this flash of pain by continuing the façade, he knew he was being selfish. It wouldn’t be fair to Peter. And, God, it wasn’t fair to Elizabeth.

"Peter," he said again, this time more assuredly. "I know you got drunk to stop thinking, but now you need to. You know this isn’t right, don’t you?"

The agent was inches away from him, but he stopped moving as Neal spoke. "You don’…?"

"I do." Neal replied swiftly before he’d had time to think about it. "I do a lot, but best case scenario is you forget all of this tomorrow morning depending on how much you’ve drunk tonight–"

"An’ wors’ case?"

Neal sighed. "Worst case scenario is you remember everything and tomorrow morning you wake up and you have to go back to Elizabeth knowing you’ve been unfaithful, even if your relationship only has just begun."

"El," Peter repeated, as if he’d only just remembered her, which Neal had a sneaking suspicion he had.

"Yeah, El. It’s either me or El you hurt, and I’m gonna save you the choice."

Peter frowned down at Neal’s chest, clearly thinking over what Neal had said. "I di’nt wanna…"

"I know you didn’t, and that’s okay, but it’s probably for the best if you sleep this off, yeah?"

"Yeah." he responded, looking a little dazed. He began to push himself up, and Neal could finally breathe properly again. "Yeah, I’ll jus’ go."

"No, don’t be stupid, you can take my bed." he said, sitting upright as Peter sat back on his heels.

Neal helped Peter get to his feet and they slowly padded the short distance towards his bed, stopping every so often to let Peter fend off waves of nausea. Eventually, the agent had collapsed on top of Neal’s covers, his eyes drifting closed already. Neal stepped back and studied the man for a few moments, wondering what they’d be doing right now if he’d kept his mouth shut.

Well, he knew they’d be doing something he’d be incredibly happy about, that’s for sure. Instead, he was left to stick a bucket next to the dozing lump of a man he somehow developed feelings for and hope he wouldn’t throw up on his sheets.

A text from Moz giving him a time to meet up tomorrow brought him out of his reverie, and he discovered with some unease that he wasn’t as enthusiastic about retrieving Kate’s painting as he had been before.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She lives! I'm super sorry for not updating in so long, this chapter was a pain to write for some reason. I just wanted to say, if there's another long gap between chapters (which there most probably will, not gonna lie) I promise I won't abandon this story. I hate leaving pieces of work unfinished, so even if it might be a couple of weeks between each segment, it will be finished. Promise. I'll try to keep it to the gap of one month maximum
> 
> Also, thank you to everyone who's been commenting and leaving kudos so far!

Neal woke to a faint rustling nearby, and he sighed and burrowed further into his couch cushions. He could feel last night’s headache returning with a bitter vengeance, and he wondered how long he’d be able to doze in peace.

“Oh God.”

Seems the answer was five seconds.

“Nick, what–”

“You came over last night and I let you crash on my bed.” he mumbled into the cushion, his eyes still closed.

“I – I can’t remember any of that.”

“You were drunk.”

“Drunk? What? Did I say why?”

Neal considered rolling over and telling Peter that he’d come over to escape Elizabeth and get with him instead.

“Nope.”

“Dammit, I’m sorry Nick, I didn’t mean to interrupt your evening.”

“S’fine. I wasn’t doing anything, anyway.” Except planning a heist that was going down later today and brooding so much that if Mozzie had been there he would have slapped him.

Peter didn’t say anything for a few more moments and all Neal could hear was the rustling of bedsheets as he moved around. The pounding in his head was still there, and Neal could map the distance from the couch to the kitchen cabinets where he kept his painkillers and deemed it too far for him to travel.

“Can I use your bathroom?”

“Yeah, it’s the door near the kitchen.” He waved vaguely at it and heard the creak of the old bedsprings as Peter got up and padded to the bathroom. Last night Neal had been too weary to do anything once Peter had fallen asleep, and so he had immediately collapsed onto the couch and drifted off. He only hoped the room wasn’t in too much of a state that Peter would comment.

When he eventually heard the door close he rolled over with a groan and flung an arm over his eyes. He squeezed one eye open and glanced at his watch to discover that it was past nine in the morning and Moz was due to arrive in a couple of hours. Slowly, Neal pushed himself upright and scrubbed a hand over his face, cursing his tendency to get headaches.

The door opened a few moments later and Peter emerged with a frown on his face and his clothes rumpled.

“I – uh – I’ve gotta get to work, um…”

“Interviewing some CI, right?” Neal supplied, desperate to escape the awkwardness he knew was going to permeate the air. It seemed as though Peter didn’t remember what happened last night, though, which he supposed was a good thing. For Peter, anyway.

“Yeah, right.” Peter said, avoiding eye contact and heading towards the door. “Recognised someone at the gallery when it was robbed. Uh, I’ll see you later.”

He was gone before Neal could reply. He stared at the door for a few moments with his eyebrows raised before he shook his head slightly and got up with a sigh, taking in the state of the room as he did. It wasn’t too messy, Neal decided; there were a few paint brushes and pots in the sink and some clothes were piled on a chair near the bed but it had looked worse.

On his way to retrieving his painkillers, Neal paused at the table situated in front of the kitchen cabinets. The blueprints to the art gallery were lying open on it, a few mugs holding the corners down. Neal stared at it for long time, before his gaze slowly slid over to the door where Peter had left in a rush. How likely was it that the agent had seen these? He had probably been too drunk last night to remember, unless the memory loss this morning had been an act. It’s what Neal would have done; create a false sense of security until more evidence could be gathered. But Peter was an FBI agent, surely he would have questioned Neal if he’d found something suspicious?

There were too many ifs and buts, and Neal chose not to concentrate on them too much for now. Moz was due later on, and he had to remain focused on the upcoming heist. As soon as this was over, he and Moz would be out of there, and Neal wouldn’t be around to find out if Peter had spotted those blueprints or not.

He swallowed a couple of painkillers and headed for the shower. He stayed motionless under the warm spray of water as he went over the plan to steal Kate’s painting once again. He was, admittedly, just going to be sitting in the van since there was a chance Elizabeth could spot him, but Neal still preferred to know exactly what was going to happen even if he wasn’t involved. The stakes weren’t particularly high, though, as the gallery was expecting them and there had been no resistance from any staff members about them taking a few paintings for ‘conservation checks’. By the end of the day, the two of them would be on a plane headed away from New York and Neal could leave Peter and everything else behind him, even if he didn’t particularly want to.

A couple of hours passed and by eleven Neal was stood in front of the painting he had promised Peter with his arms crossed, debating what to do with it. He wished he’d given it to him this morning before he left, but tucked away in the corner, it wasn’t the first thing someone would spot. He debated dropping it off at the FBI later that day, but he knew he’d never get Moz to agree to it if he did. Or maybe he should just leave it; Peter was bound to catch the thief without this painting; it wasn’t like this was the only path he could take.

His mind made up, Neal turned to check his phone, when a knock at the door interrupted him. Moz was early but that didn’t matter too much, the sooner they got this over with, the sooner they’d be out of New York.

When he opened the door, though, Moz wasn’t there to greet him. Peter was.

“Peter,” Neal said, mostly out of surprise. “Everything ok?”

“Yeah, Neal, everything’s fine.” he replied, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Can I come in?”

“Uh, sure, yeah.” Neal stepped aside and watched Peter brush past. He closed the door slowly and turned around. Thankfully, he’d moved the blueprints earlier, so there was no chance Peter would spot them now.

“So, is this about last night?” he asked, heading over to the kitchen counter and filling the kettle.

“Oh, I don’t want anything.” Peter said, waving Neal away when he lifted the kettle slightly in his direction. “And, actually… about last night, uh,”

“Mm-hm?” Neal hummed, preparing his own mug of coffee.

“That’s not really why I’m here, Neal, but now that you’ve brought it up, I have started remembering bits and pieces, and…” Neal heard him clear his throat, and when he looked over his shoulder, Peter was frowning down at the floor and his fists were clenched.

“We should forget about it.” he announced, and Neal nodded slightly, knowing that that was always going to be his answer. Elizabeth was a much better person, as a whole, than Neal, and he was admittedly glad that Peter didn’t want to hurt her.

Neal leaned against the counter and observed Peter’s clenched fists and the way his eyes were darting about his small apartment. Was he angry over what had happened?

“Ok, we can forget about it.” he said, smiling slightly in the hopes that it might relieve the agent’s apparent anger.

“Thank you, Neal, I appreciate that.” he replied, though Neal thought he didn’t sound appreciative. He was back to frowning at the floor.

“So if you’re not here about last night,” he asked, pouring the hot water into a mug. “What’s going on?”

Peter was silent for a few moments and Neal stirred his coffee silently, waiting for the other to speak. He wondered what Peter was finding so difficult to get out and he glanced at his watch while he waited, hoping Mozzie would arrive after Peter had left.

“You have a small apartment. It looks cheap.”

That was _not_ what he’d been expecting, and Neal paused his stirring in surprise.

“Uh, that’s because it is.” he said slowly, his own frown forming. He turned with his mug in his hand to see Peter watching him with a blank expression. “Living as a university student doesn’t come with a fancy apartment. Hence this place.” He gestured to the small bed and tiny kitchenette.

“You don’t have a lot of stuff either, you know.” Peter said, looking around the place.

“What’s going on, Peter?” he asked, turning to put his drink down.

“You know, in the past five minutes I’ve called you ‘Neal’ three times and you haven’t noticed.”

He froze. One hand was still clasping the handle of his mug, and he distantly noticed his whitened knuckles. Neal closed his eyes and bowed his head, eventually loosening the grip on his drink.

“You saw the blueprints.” he croaked. Where had his voice gone?

“I saw the blueprints.” Peter confirmed, and Neal winced at the growl in the agent’s tone. “And then I spoke to someone who said they spotted Neal Caffrey at the gallery, and when asked to point him out, he looked a hell of a lot like you.”

 _Shit_. He spun, intending to say something but he was caught breathless at the look of pure _fury_ on Peter’s face.

“Peter, I–”

“ _Shut up_.” Peter spat. “I don’t want to listen to a damn thing you’ve got to say. You lied to me, you lied to _El_ , you played us all. Did you find it satisfying, making an FBI agent look stupid?”

“No, I didn’t–”

“Was it just a fun little game?” he continued with a snarl, stalking forwards slowly. “Get close to the dumb agent, make him _blush_ , make him think–” He cut himself off, biting his lip and running his hand through his hair.

“Peter,” Neal breathed, “It wasn’t a game, I wasn’t trying to play with you–”

“I said shut up!” he bellowed, slamming his hand on the small table. Neal jumped and backed away, only to find the kitchen counter blocking his escape.

“You’re under arrest.” Peter growled. “Turn around. _Now._ ”

“Under arrest?” Neal repeated with a frown. “For what?”

“Enough with the damn games, Caffrey–” Neal barely repressed the flinch at the way Peter spat his last name. Any fantasies he’d had of a relationship with Peter had been carelessly smashed to pieces, and he knew nothing would repair them.

“–what the hell do you think I’m arresting you for? I’m taking you in, you’re gonna tell me where that painting is, and then you’re going to prison.”


	9. Chapter 9

He had been unable to ignore the guilt. It had gnawed away at him as he’d sat opposite Peter in a darkened interrogation room, watching the way Peter stared at him with a blank expression that was void of any fondness he might have once held for Neal. He’d wanted to talk to Peter, tell him that he hadn’t been playing games, hadn’t been teasing him. Whatever he might have been feeling for Peter had been tentative and new, and he certainly didn’t think of the possibility that Peter might have been starting to reciprocate.

The guilt he’d faced at the thought that Peter assumed he’d been messing with him had him blurting a confession. Neal knew he wouldn’t have been able to construe a believable lie about the blueprints Peter had found, and so he’d decided to just give in. With him out of the way, Peter and Elizabeth would be able to get on with their lives and forget about the man who conned them. As well as that crime, the FBI had tried to get him to confess to the theft of the artwork he’d been witness to with Elizabeth, but there had been insufficient evidence and Neal wasn’t about to confess to a crime he didn’t commit. He also didn’t confess to any of the thirty plus thefts and forgeries he was allegedly involved with.

Those long hours spent in an interrogation room and then standing in court led him here, his back aching as he lay in a cell, his orange clothing itching the back of his neck. It had been four weeks since his sentencing, and still each night Neal was confronted with the image of Peter’s face when he’d confronted him in his apartment. It was an image apparently burned into his retinas, and he remembered feeling sick that day, knowing he’d lost Peter’s trust and friendship.

A curse from an inmate nearby shook him from his reverie, and Neal sighed to himself, staring up at the naked light bulb above him. He’d had no visitors, though that wasn’t really surprising. Mozzie would have undoubtedly fled, Elizabeth wouldn’t want to put a strain on her relationship with Peter, and had he really expected Kate to show up? He was beginning to wonder if he should give up on her, let her go and leave her to whatever it was she was doing now.

“Caffrey.”

Neal turned his head to see one of the wardens pressed against his cell, watching him with an irritated expression.

“I was gonna turn my light off in a second.” he said, flashing the guy a smile.

“C’mere.” the warden grunted, and to Neal’s amazement he unlocked the cell door.

He sat up slowly and swung his legs onto the floor. “Why?”

“Just fucking do it.” he sighed, holding open the door. “I ain’t got time for your questions.”

Neal got to his feet and cautiously stepped forwards. “Where are we going?”

“This way.” The warden grabbed his arm and yanked him in front of him, roughly pulling his arms behind his back and binding his wrists with handcuffs. Neal felt his heart rate increase but he forced himself not to worry as they marched down the prison corridor. They came across no other guards on their route, and each time they passed a camera, Neal glanced up at it and wondered if the person behind it knew what was happening.

Soon enough they reached the infirmary, though the warden stopped just outside the doors. From what Neal could see, no lights were on and by the looks of it the half dozen beds were empty. Neal’s confusion grew when his handcuffs were released, and he rubbed at the reddened skin.

“As much as I appreciate a nighttime stroll, I’d really rather be getting back to my cell now.” he said, turning to the man behind him.

“Not happening, Caffrey.” he said with a grin that Neal really didn’t like the look of. “See, you’re being admitted.”

“To the infirmary?” he asked, frowning whilst turning back to the mentioned room. “What for?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

The warden lunged forward suddenly and Neal felt a fist hit his stomach. He gasped and doubled over, only just blocking the second fist that came at him from the left. The warden was fast and Neal was still reeling from the shock of being punched, and so he wasn’t quick enough to deflect a solid blow to his chest. He stumbled backwards but the warden matched his stride, striking his leg out and sending Neal to the ground, a groan escaping as his battered body smacked the tiled floor. A pair of hands grabbed the material around his shoulders, lifted him, and then slammed him back down. His head collided with the floor and Neal knew he was close to passing out.

He felt himself being heaved to his feet and then the warden was dragging him through the doors of the infirmary. The floor was swaying and Neal closed his eyes to fend off the waves of nausea threatening to spill. Footsteps approached and he felt somebody else take his other arm, and the warden and whoever else was there propped him up and tugged him forwards.

“What happened?”

“Punctured lung.”

Neal frowned at that. He was fairly certain he didn’t have a punctured lung, otherwise he’d be having a hell of a hard time breathing.

“We’ll have to transfer him out, get him somewhere with better facilities.”

“I don’–” Neal began, but he was interrupted.

“Quiet down, Mr. Caffrey.” The doctor (presumably) and the warden led him to a gurney and lay him down, and Neal felt his left wrist being shackled to the rail. He opened his eyes and tried to spot the doctor, tell him there had been some sort of mistake.

“’S not punctured.” he slurred, his head still pounding as he was wheeled to the prison’s exit.

“You’re not in a right state of mind to be diagnosing yourself.” the doctor responded, staring ahead as the two men steered the gurney.

“M’not coughin’ blood.” Neal added, and he rattled his wrist to get attention. The doctor paid him no heed, though, and so he switched his gaze to the other side of the gurney where the warden was walking.

“He in on it too?” Neal mumbled, and the warden grinned.

“Money goes a long way, Caffrey.” he said, staring ahead like the doctor. “Even reaches inside a prison’s walls.”

“Who bought you?” he asked, and as much as he wanted to know, he was finding it increasingly difficult to stay awake.

“Wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise now, would we?”

After a few minutes they reached an exit and Neal was loaded into an ambulance. The doctor got in with him and Neal closed his eyes when he saw the man fiddling with a syringe.

“Who am I gonna tell where m’going?” he murmured, and the doctor smiled ruefully.

“Just following instructions, I’m afraid.” The needle was inserted into his arm and Neal resisted the urge to squirm. He could already feel the drug taking effect; his eyelids felt heavy and his limbs felt looser. Before he knew it, his eyes closed for good as unconsciousness washed over him.

* * *

 

When he woke up, it was to a pounding headache and achy muscles. Neal was fairly sure some of his ribs were cracked, too, and he winced as he rolled onto his side, faintly celebrating the fact that he wasn’t tied up.

It was with some reluctance that he cracked open his eyes, and he frowned as he took in his surroundings. He was in a barn? It was hard to see since it was still apparently night time, but he was ninety-five percent sure he was in a barn. There were no animals, but straws of hay were strewn across the floor and the wooded walls loomed high above him. Definitely a barn.

Neal had no idea how long he had been out, but judging by the lack of daylight streaming in through the slats, he guessed it had only been a couple of hours. Biting back a moan, he pushed himself upright and shuffled back a bit until he was leaning against a wall. Glancing down at himself, he noted with confusion that he was wearing a grey suit, and he was fairly sure it was his own. He’d only been wearing it a month ago, the night Peter had shown up drunk at his apartment.

What the hell was going on, and who had supposedly been considerate enough to change him out of prison uniform and into his own clothes? Kate flashed through his head briefly, but he knew (hoped) she wouldn’t have let her cohorts use violence to get him out of jail. Following on from Kate, Mozzie seemed the next candidate, but Neal was doubtful. Mozzie might be dramatic but he wouldn’t have beaten and drugged Neal all the while keeping his identity a secret.

It was then that the far door opened with a creak, and someone hidden by shadows entered. Neal was able to discern that he was male and perhaps slightly shorter than he, but that was it.

“Come on, then,” he croaked. “Who do I have to thank for getting me out of prison?”

The figure continued to saunter forwards until he stepped into a patch of moonlight about ten feet from where Neal was slumped against the wall. Neal’s eyes widened and he sat up straighter, determined not to let his panic show.

“Well that would be me, Caffrey.” Matthew Keller said with grin.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a bit of violence in this one, though I tried not to go into too much detail.
> 
> Also, thank you to everyone who's been leaving comments!

"Alright, Caffrey, it really isn’t difficult. You do as I say, and then I’ll let you go."

Neal spat blood onto the ground and glared up at the thug who’d delivered a fist to his face. Behind his back, his hands clenched and he could feel his fingernails digging into his palm. The rope around his wrists bit at his skin as his gaze travelled back to stare at the barn doors ahead of him, ignoring Keller as he circled around the wooden chair he was in.

"Not saying anything, huh?" said Keller, and Neal could hear the smirk in his voice. "I don’t know what the issue is. All you have to do is paint something for me. You love painting, right? And look, to make you more comfortable I even got you one of your suits. Went to your motel room and everything."

A suit that was now stained with blood, running down his face and dripping onto his shoulder from a cut on his cheekbone, provided earlier by the hired muscle that was watching him hungrily. Neal tried not to look at him.

"What happened to your game?" he croaked, glowering at Keller as he stopped in front of Neal. "First person to steal something wins?"

"You took too long to respond." he replied, and Neal scoffed.

"Well then you would’ve won."

"It’s no fun when you’re the only one playing."

"I was in prison."

"Well that’s not my problem, is it?"

"They’re going to be looking for me."

"They are looking for you." Keller responded, pulling a small knife from his pocket and twirling it between his fingers. Neal swallowed and found he couldn’t stop watching the movement. "Doesn’t mean they’ll find you, though."

"You’re that confident?" Neal asked, figuring that the longer he kept Keller talking, the longer it’d be until he stopped twirling that knife and used it for something else.

"Well let’s say they do find us here." Keller said, looking at Neal with a raised eyebrow. "You don’t think I’m gonna just let you go, do you?" He stopped playing with the knife and pointed it at Neal. "The only way you’re getting out of here alive is if you comply with what I want."

"And you want me to forge something?" Neal asked, remembering Keller’s earlier demand as he’d been forced into a chair while his hands were tied behind his back.

"Yeah, Caffrey, I want you to forge something. Anything you like."

"Why?"

Keller sighed and rolled his eyes. "That part doesn’t concern–"

"You got a debt to pay?"

Keller gestured to the thug and Neal was hit in the jaw. His head snapped to the side and he let it hang there for a moment, allowing his vision to come back and the pain to recede to a persistent throbbing. He grinned and spat out more blood.

"Is it the Russians? I bet it’s the Russians."

"You know what, I’m gonna come back when he’s a bit more compliant." Keller said to his muscle, and the guy nodded in response. Keller tossed the knife to him and then looked at Neal.

"See you in a bit, Caffrey. Maybe then you’ll take my offer a little more seriously." He turned and exited the barn, leaving the thug watching Neal with a spreading smile.

"I got something on my face?" Neal asked, straightening up in his chair with a grimace. The thug's smile didn’t abate as he stepped closer.

What followed in the next hour or so was an unrelenting attack upon his chest and stomach, courtesy of the thug’s giant fists, and Neal soon found he much preferred bending over in his chair to sitting up straight. He knew some of his ribs were cracked, if not broken, and he could only pray they wouldn’t puncture a lung. His arms strained from his bent position but he was practically unable to sit up, his head came to rest on his knees as he fought for breath and his eyes screwed shut.

Keller didn’t return until the next day, after Neal had been through a series of beatings and once the thug had sliced away at his chest, leaving tears in his shirt and letting the blood blemish the pristine white material. He had been left alone during the night, but he’d only caught snatches of sleep, the position he was in and the constant pain preventing him from resting fully. When morning had come, the thug had returned and continued to leave bruises on his face and body.

"So let me guess," Neal panted, just as Keller was opening his mouth to say something. Keller closed it and rolled his eyes again, crossing his arms and waiting for Neal to speak.

"You weren’t really going to play your game, were you?" he asked. "You just wanted me to do the dirty work for you."

"You always like to think you’re the best, I didn’t see why I should waste my talents when you so enjoy showing off yours." Keller said with a smirk.

Neal shook his head with a slight smile. "Well if you’ve kidnapped me then you must think I’m better, too."

The smirk slid of Keller’s face, replaced with an expression that looked as though he’d eaten something sour.

"It’s almost sweet." Neal gave his brightest grin, uncaring that it was probably tainted with blood.

Keller suddenly snatched the knife from the thug and surged towards Neal, plunging the weapon into his right shoulder with a snarl. Neal yelled and arched his back, his eyes squeezed shut and his voice becoming hoarse when Keller twisted it slightly. He stepped back with the knife still in his grip, its cool blade stained red and dripping. Neal clenched his teeth together and bowed his head, trying to regulate his breathing as he rode out the waves of white-hot pain.

"You’re getting my dry-cleaning bill." he gasped, groaning again as Keller grabbed a fistful of his hair and snapped his head up. He could feel the knife under his chin, resting against his throat.

"Stop with the bravado, Caffrey, and do as I say." Keller hissed. "Then you won’t have to put up with continuous days of beatings and I won’t have to put up with your shit." He released his grip on Neal and straightened, looking down at him with cold eyes.

"Pick. A. Piece." he ground out through gritted teeth.

"You’re gonna have to put up with my shit for a while longer, I’m afraid." Neal grunted, glaring at Keller with a determined expression.

Keller watched him for almost a minute before he smiled slowly. "Fine."

He locked eyes with his hired muscle. "Don’t let him die and keep his right hand intact. I’ll be back tomorrow with a little more incentive."

* * *

 

Three hours later and Neal had been untied from his chair and dumped on the ground, left alone in the barn at last. He pulled himself towards the back of the barn and slowly turned onto his back, slumping against the wooden wall with his legs splayed out in front of him. As he was fighting for his breath back, he rolled his head left and right to take in his surroundings.

He spied a bucket about twelve feet to his left, and while he could guess what it was for, he currently had no energy to go and use it. His shoulder felt like it was on fire and it was with a surge of helplessness that he glared at it, knowing he was unable to tie something around it single-handedly. The best he could do was clamp his left hand to it, provoking a sharp cry out of him but even then he could only hold on for so long, that simple task sapping what little strength he had left out of him.

Eventually his hand dropped to his lap and Neal closed his eyes. He knew Keller wouldn’t let him die – he’d said so himself – and so he had to trust that the man would at some point do something about his wound. It had been steadily bleeding out and he knew he wouldn’t last the night if something wasn’t done about it. He had been tempted to stagger over to the barn door and yell for help – be it to one of Keller’s men for medical help or some stranger who might hopefully pass by – but he had no idea where the barn was situated or how far away it was in relation to other buildings. He had assumed he was on some sort of farm, and that Keller himself was occupying a farmhouse or something, but he had no real way of knowing and no one was around to inform him.

Neal dozed on and off for a couple of hours, and he was roused from his stupor by the creaking of the barn doors, a sound he had come to hate. The thug sidled in and lumbered over to him whilst producing a bandage from his pocket. He knelt in front of Neal and wrapped it haphazardly around his shoulder, tying it tightly in a knot over the wound. Neal looked down at the bandage sitting on top of his suit jacket and shirt and already starting to stain with blood, and then he looked across to the thug.

“You’ve done a shocking job.” he murmured, but the man didn’t react as he got up and headed towards the doors. “Hey, make sure your boss has somewhere to bury bodies, ‘cos that’s what you’ll be doing to mine tomorrow.” he called after him, but the only reply he got was the slam of the doors.

Neal glanced back down at the bandage and sighed. Maybe it’ll keep him alive through the night, but after that he wasn’t so sure. It was very possible he was going to die here, and whether that would be inadvertent or not on Keller’s part he wasn’t sure yet. He found he wasn’t particularly frightened at the thought of dying, and he didn’t know whether to be worried by that or not. Granted, his life was at a bit of an all-time low at the moment, what with Peter’s hatred, his month in prison and now this: the icing on the burned and crumbling cake, but he _had_ gotten out of worse scrapes in the past because of his zest for life and his fiery desire to _live_. Now, though, that fire had all but been extinguished, and Neal wondered if his last act on Earth would be denying Keller what he wanted.

As far as last acts went, that one was pretty good.

At some point in the night, Neal managed to drag himself over to the bucket and use it, and when he returned to his original spot, he slumped against the wall and succeeded in falling into a fitful sleep, interrupted every so often by the pulsing pain in his shoulder that refused to subside.

When he woke, sunlight was filtering in through wooden slats and one of the barn doors was being opened. Neal became more aware when he heard shouting coming from outside, and he pushed himself up slightly in preparation for whatever was to come.

In came Keller with a wide grin on his face, in a much better mood than when he left yesterday. He spied Neal on the ground and strolled over to him.

“Morning, Caffrey.” he said, crouching down opposite Neal. “I’ve found that extra incentive I mentioned yesterday, and I’m gonna give you one more chance before I use it.” He raised an eyebrow at Neal as he waited for a response, and when all Neal did was glare at him, he nodded.

“I was hoping you’d do that.” he said, straightening and heading back to the door. “I think I’ll give you a few more hours before I come back, let you mull things over, hmm?” And then he left, gone as quickly as he’d come in.

There was still shouting outside, though, and Neal could hear it coming closer. Keller had left the door open, and while Neal had entertained the possibility of making a break for it, he knew he wouldn’t have gotten far. He resigned himself to staying at the back of the barn and waiting for whatever it was Keller had planned.

One of Keller’s guards entered backwards, dragging something behind him. Or, some _one_ , Neal realised with a sickening feeling, and that someone was struggling with all their might. The guard whipped himself around to face Neal, threw his captive onto the ground and then swiftly exited, locking the doors behind him.

“God _dammit_ , Keller.” Neal moaned quietly, praying this to be a fever dream brought on by the inevitable infection from his stab wound. He knew it wasn’t though, and he wondered if he’d make it to the bucket to throw up before Elizabeth stopped banging against the barn doors and saw that he was there, too.


	11. Chapter 11

“Oh my God, what did they do to you?”

Elizabeth came rushing over and knelt next to him. Subduing the panic he could feel at the sight of her, Neal gave a wry smile in response and shrugged, finding that it was best he could do at the moment with what little energy he had left.

“You should see what I did to them.” he murmured, looking her up and down with a frown. Her shirt was rumpled but intact, as were her jeans. “Did they hurt you, Elizabeth?”

“No, I’m fine.” she responded, shaking her head. “Nick, I…” She trailed off, suddenly looking hesitant.

“Peter told you?” he asked quietly, and Elizabeth nodded.

“I’m sorry.” he breathed. “I didn’t mean to involve you.”

“It’s ‘Neal’, right?” she asked, and it was Neal’s turn to nod. “Were you really part of that robbery?”

“No.” he said. “Bad timing on my part.”

Elizabeth smiled slightly. “Peter was so angry at you when he found out you were lying to him.”

“I don’t blame him.” Neal said. “Are you saying you’re not?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I was,” she began, shifting to lean against the wall next to him. “But it’s kind of hard when you look like this.”

“How dare you.” Neal croaked with a smile, prompting one out of Elizabeth, too.

“So why are we here?” she asked, and Neal sighed and shifted, immediately regretting it when bolts of pain coursed down his arm.

“Matthew Keller.” he said. “A rival of mine who needs me to do something for him.”

“And what’s that?”

“Forge a painting I think. I assume he wants it to be a lost piece that he’s miraculously found.”

“Why?” Elizabeth asked with a frown.

“He’s got a debt to pay.” Neal answered. “Keller has a tendency to owe money to people and then disappear before he pays them. Guess they’ve caught up to him.”

“So why am I here?”

Neal swallowed and rolled his head across the wall to gaze at her. “Leverage.” he muttered. “I’m sorry.”

Elizabeth reached over and squeezed his hand. “We’ll be ok.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Elizabeth.”

“I can handle myself,” she said with a smile. “And I don’t think you’re in any position to be fighting those guards.”

“I’ll do as he says, though.” Neal replied. “No need for us to get hurt needlessly, right?”

Elizabeth squeezed his hand again. “Right.” she said softly. “You know, I didn’t think conmen were this noble.”

“They’re not.” Neal said. “Must have a concussion.”

Elizabeth laughed and shook her head, though it died when she glanced at his shoulder. “What happened?” she demanded, reaching out.

Neal leaned away. “Don’t touch it.” he rushed, blinking away spots at his sudden movement. Elizabeth frowned.

“I – I wasn’t going to.” she answered. “Were you shot?”

“Stabbed.”

“Stabbed? It doesn’t even look like it’s been treated.” Elizabeth reached out again but Neal leaned back even further.

“I just want to look.” she said. “I’ll be gentle.”

Reluctantly, Neal conceded, and Elizabeth gradually pulled back the bloodied and crusty bandage that the guard had haphazardly applied the night before, wincing whenever Neal flinched. A small amount of blood was sluggishly oozing out of the wound, adding to the dark tint of Neal’s shoulder.

“That…” Elizabeth murmured with a frown. “Looks infected.”

“Feels infected, too.”

“When did they…?”

“Last night.” he murmured.

“Oh.” Elizabeth bit her lip, still studying the wound.

“Yeah,” Neal breathed with a slight smile. “Not got long left.”

“Don’t be silly.” Elizabeth said, though there wasn’t much conviction in her tone. “You’ll be fine, we’ll get out of here.”

Neal was about to open his mouth to respond when the barn doors opened and Keller strolled in.

“Well Caffrey, now that you’ve had a nice little reunion, have you got a different answer for me?”

Neal glanced across at Elizabeth, who smiled warmly and squeezed his hand. He knew he’d never be able to forgive himself if she got hurt because of him, and he could only imagine the look on Peter’s face if he lost her.

“Alright,” he said wearily, glaring up at Keller. “I’ll do what you want. Elizabeth stays out of it, though.”

Keller shrugged. “Don’t mess me around and we’ve got a deal.” he replied. “I’ll get you some supplies later on.”

“Get someone to treat his shoulder, first.” Elizabeth demanded, staring at Keller with a cold expression.

“Elizabeth,” Neal warned, but she only tightened her grip on his hand in response. Keller turned to her with raised eyebrows, a smile tugging at his lips, but she didn’t back down. Eventually, he returned his gaze to Neal.

“Alright,” he conceded. “I’m not a monster. But that’s the only thing you get to ask for, Miss Mitchell.” He turned to go then, but a sudden thought entered Neal’s head, and he called out.

“Keller,” The man stopped and raised an eyebrow at him, waiting. “I’ve already got a piece ready.” he said. “In my rooms. It’s finished.”

It wasn’t a lie, but Neal had no idea if it was still there. The piece he’d painted for Peter when they were planning to lure out the gallery’s robber had been sitting in his room when Peter arrested him, and he could only hope it hadn’t been seized as evidence. It was a risk worth taking, though, if it meant Elizabeth would be safe. The thought of her being harmed because of him made him nauseous, and if anything happened to her while he got out alive, Neal would be taking a ride to Riker's himself.

Keller seemed to be evaluating what he'd said, weighing the pros and cons. "Alright, Neal." he said. "I'll bite. But lemme tell you this," He pointed a finger and smiled coldly. "If your FBI buddy is waiting for me, my friend here is gonna have a lot of fun with you and Miss Mitchell."

Neal really wasn't sure if he was going to be able to contain his nausea, though whether that was from Keller's words or blood loss, he couldn't say. Next to him, Elizabeth's lips were pressed tightly together while she glared at Keller.

"See you two later then. No funny business while I'm gone." The sentence was delivered with a chirpy smile, and he winked at Neal before he and his bodyguard left, leaving the two of them alone. Neal sighed and leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths.

"Are you OK?" he heard Elizabeth ask, and Neal smiled wanly.

"I'm wondering what risks will be involved if I ask our babysitter for a cup of coffee."

He felt Elizabeth squeeze his hand. "Not sure coffee's a wise idea at the minute. No passing out on me, please."

Neal huffed. "Working on that." he said. His shoulder was killing him - quite literally, right now - and he could feel his hands shaking. He wondered if Elizabeth could feel it too.

"Do you think there's a way out of here?"

"Working on that, too." Neal added, his eyes still closed.

"Care to let me in on it?"

"Well," he replied, cracking his eyes open and peering at Elizabeth. "I've no ideas at this moment, but I'm sure something will come to mind."

"That's great." Elizabeth said with a smile. "It's just that, once your friend gets his painting, you're aware that he doesn't necessarily have to let us go?"

"I'm aware." Neal replied. He was very aware of that.

Elizabeth was silent for a few moments, before saying quietly, "You're a criminal, right?"

With a frown, Neal slowly turned his head to face Elizabeth properly. "According to some people."

She looked towards the doors at the other end of the building. "Then couldn't you... pick the lock?"

"You know, it's not just criminals who know how to pick locks."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Alright, I won't call you a criminal again. But could you?"

Neal sighed. "Probably." he answered quietly. "Haven't met a lock I couldn't pick yet. The only problem is if I move I'm gonna pass out."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"That's... unfortunate."

"Yeah."

They were quiet for a few moments. Neal closed his eyes again and tried not to fall asleep. He hadn't been entirely joking when he'd told Elizabeth he didn't have long left, and he could feel himself getting increasingly frustrated at his lack of escape plans. He was concentrating so much on staying awake that he had no energy left to think of ways out. Unless they thought of something soon, their future was looking bleak.

"You could tell me how to do it."

Neal opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow. "That could work." he said. "Providing Keller's guys didn't take my lock picks."

They had taken them. Neal's fingers found the ripped seams where he normally stashed his items, and he bit down the swell of disappointment. With a nail or two, it could still work.

It was as he was pulling his hand away from his side that he brushed something inside his outer pocket. With a small frown, Neal slipped a hand in and his fingers closed around something small and circular. He pulled it out slightly and stared down at the little black tracking device sitting in his palm.

He remembered Peter arriving at his rooms a month or so ago, drunk and clumsy and woozy from the concussion Keller had given him. He remembered Peter dropping a handful of trackers on the floor, and cheerfully giving one to Neal. Why he did, Neal didn't know, but he could finally picture he and Elizabeth getting out of this safely. Well, as safe as he could be with the lack of blood currently in his body.

Neal also remembered how that night had nearly ended, but with Elizabeth waiting next to him, he resolutely pushed those thoughts away. Whatever Peter might have felt for him, Neal knew he definitely wouldn't still feel that way now, especially now that Elizabeth was at risk because of him.

"They took them." he told her, patting his pockets for show and trying not to wince at the movement. "Guess it was unlikely anyway."

“Couldn’t we find something around here to use instead?” Elizabeth asked, scanning the floor as she spoke.

 _Yes we could_ , Neal thought to himself, but even if Elizabeth unlocked the door, there was no telling who was waiting for them outside. With the newly discovered tracker, though, there was hope that the FBI would save them the trouble of finding out how many guards were hanging around. That was assuming, however, that someone at the FBI would respond to the signal. Just because Peter had given him one didn’t mean he would answer the call.

“No,” he answered. “Nothing would be delicate enough to use as a substitute.”

Elizabeth didn’t look entirely convinced, but she didn’t say anything in response.

“We need to get out of here soon.” she said after some time, glancing a look at Neal’s shoulder.

“We will.” He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t telling Elizabeth about the tracker, but Keller’s reaction to the FBI storming his little hideout was something to worry about. With any luck, Keller would take his anger out on him and leave Elizabeth out of it, but to ensure her safety even more Neal knew the tracker had to be on her. That way, the Feds would definitely find her.

And anyway, if Peter did show up and Neal was hoarding the tracker, he knew the agent would be less concerned with him and more worried about Elizabeth’s safety. If the tracker was with her, everyone would be happy – well, as happy as anyone could be in these circumstances.

Neal was also aware that if he shared his plan with Elizabeth, she would refuse to take the tracker. So it was necessary that he kept this from her, as uncomfortable as it might make him.

Which was why, when night fell a few hours later and Neal was feeling lightheaded whilst Elizabeth napped next to him, he found the tracker’s switch and slipped it into Elizabeth’s pocket.

Finding himself squeezing Elizabeth’s unresponsive hand for comfort, he settled in for a long night battling unconsciousness whilst he waited for the cavalry to arrive.


	12. Chapter 12

Shouting from outside the barn was what woke Neal. He couldn’t focus on what was happening, though; his vision was blurry and he was dizzy just from raising his head from Elizabeth’s shoulder. With a weak groan, he leant against the wooded wall as Elizabeth sat straighter, blinking and wincing when the barn doors were thrust open and flashlights were shone in their faces.

“Wus goin’ on?” Neal slurred, also cringing from the bright lights.

“You’ve made a big mistake, Caffrey.” he heard Keller say in a sharp tone as the man strode closer. “I don’t know how the hell you alerted the Feds, but I promise you, you are not getting out of this alive.”

 _The FBI was here?_ He was amazed someone had responded to the tracker he’d switched on and hidden in Elizabeth’s pocket. The majority of him had expected the signal to just be ignored.

“Ni-Neal’s been with me the whole time, there’s no way he could have done anything.” Elizabeth argued. “Maybe it was one of your men.”

“You don’t know Caffrey like I do, sweetheart.” Keller snapped. “He always manages to squeeze himself out of tight spots.” He crouched down opposite Neal and grabbed his left arm close to his shoulder wound, eliciting a sharp shout from Neal. “Not this time.”

Keller straightened and turned to one of the four men behind him, who were spaced out and pointing their flashlights at the two captives. “Take her away from here.” he addressed two of them. “One of the cars outside is already waiting for you.”

As soon as the two guards got near Elizabeth, she lashed out with her foot and struck one of them in the groin. He doubled over with a groan while she scratched at and struggled with the other one, who was gradually dragging her to the door.

“Let her go, Keller, please.” Neal croaked, trying to look at Keller directly but finding it increasingly difficult as his vision persisted in trying to escape him.

“Shut up.” the other man responded. “I’m still deciding what to do with you.”

“How close are the FBI?” he asked, trying to raise his voice so Elizabeth might hear him. At the moment, she and her guard – along with the other one, who had recovered from Elizabeth’s attack – had reached the open doors, though she hadn’t stopped struggling.

Keller was watching him with a menacing gleam in his eye. “They’re here already. Lucky that this barn is far out from the farmhouse, which is where they are at the minute. Don’t worry,” he continued. “That still gives me plenty of time to kill you.”

“Eliza–” he started to call in the loudest voice he could muster, but apparently she’d cottoned on to what he was going to tell her. As soon as she and the guards got outside, she screamed as loud as she could. It was loud enough to make Neal wince, and Keller swore as he turned towards the commotion. One of the guards reacted quickly, covering her mouth with his hand as they continued out of Neal’s sight, and Neal could only hope their rescue had heard. At least then, Elizabeth would be safe.

What was unmistakeable was the sound of a car starting nearby, its engine getting quieter the further it got from the barn. Keller turned back to Neal with a triumphant smile.

“So then,” he said, crouching down again. “I’m still undecided about you.”

“Jus’ get it over with, Keller.” Neal sighed, closing his eyes in resignation. He wondered if he’d be able to slip unconscious before Keller made his mind up. It was likely at this point.

“Maybe I’ll just dump you in the woods nearby. Blood loss and that infection will probably kill you before I do.”

“Go for it.” He didn’t care anymore. Elizabeth still (unknowingly) had the tracker so the FBI would catch up to her eventually. Now that she was relatively out of danger, Neal had no more energy left to spend on worrying what Keller was going to do to him.

Keller was smiling at him. “Where’s that perseverance, Caffrey? That lust for life that was always so annoying?”

Neal glared weakly at him. “Stall any longer an’ the… FBI’ll get ‘ere.” He could here himself slurring and it didn’t go unnoticed that it was getting increasingly hard to keep talking, but he couldn’t find it in himself to give a damn. Right now he just wanted to sleep and get this all over with.

“Not wrong about that, Neal.” Keller said with a nod, standing up and gesturing to the two remaining guards. “Time is of the essence. Tie him back into the chair.”

Neal felt two pairs of hands grab him and he moaned as his wound was jostled. He was dragged across the straw-covered ground to the wooden chair a few feet in front of him and unceremoniously dumped in it. He listed forwards but he was shoved back while his wrists were tied to the arms of the chair and his ankles were bound to the chair’s legs. Neal could feel sweat beaded at his hairline and he was gasping from the pain that had blossomed from the copious movement. He blinked away the black spots that danced across his vision as Keller strode into his sight.

“Any last requests Caffrey?” he asked, fiddling with one of his shirt cuffs as he spoke. “Actually,” He shrugged. “I don’t care. Catch you later, Neal.” he added with a wink. He said something to the guards that Neal didn’t hear, and then he was sauntering off into the chaos outside, presumably to get as far away from the FBI as possible.

The guards, meanwhile, were ambling closer to him with sickening smiles on their faces, and Neal suddenly decided that _no_ , he didn’t want to be killed by these guys. He tugged at the ropes around his wrists and was surprised to find that one of his wrists could move around a bit more than the other. Apparently, the thugs didn’t think he’d have the strength to move so they hadn’t worried too much about how tight the restraints needed to be.

Well, they’d be kind of right about the no strength thing, but Neal was hoping for an adrenaline rush to see him through if he got free.

“Prefer a knife or a gun?” one of them asked in a gravelly voice, and Neal fought against rolling his eyes.

“Get on with it already.” he murmured, his act of weakness while he tried to subtly pull his right hand free not entirely an act.

“Alright,” the guy said, stuffing a small knife into his waistband as he got closer. “I think I’m gonna rough you up a bit first, though, hey?” By now he was standing directly in front of Neal, his arms crossed while he looked down with a smug expression. The other guard was poised behind him, his back turned while he pointed his flashlight at the doors.

The thug wasn’t waiting for a response, though, for as soon as he’d spoken he slammed his left fist into Neal’s face. Neal grunted as his head snapped to the side and the bruises that had been lying dormant on his face were reawakened, sending bolts of pain streaking across his cheek.

While he was catching his breath the guards had stepped away to speak to each other. Neal took that moment to tug his right hand back again, pleased to note that he was close to getting free. He kept a wary eye on the two men while he worked, wondering if the men were deliberately holding the flashlights under their chins to create a spooky effect while they spoke. _Were they ten?_

It also meant, though, that Neal struggled to see the barn doors. He assumed Keller had closed them when he left – he couldn’t really remember, and wasn’t that worrying? – so if he did get out of these ropes in between bouts of beatings, he could be slowed by the need to pull the doors open. He wasn’t even sure if he had the energy to open them.

“So, has it ‘scaped you that your boss…” Neal had to pause for breath as a wave of nausea passed over him. “has lef’ you to be caught by th’ FBI?”

The guards paused in their chat and looked at him. He shrugged. They turned back to one another and began whispering furiously.

Meanwhile, Neal had finally managed to pull his hand free. He quickly started untying his other hand, taking deep breaths and trying to stay still during a surge of dizziness. He had to stop, though, when the guy who’d hit him marched back over to him and punched him in the stomach. Neal cried out and leant forward as far as the bonds around his left wrist would allow. He’d loosely placed the ropes back around his free hand so no one would notice, and right now it was taking all his strength not to curl his arm around his stomach as he wheezed for breath and desperately fought to stay conscious.

“If we kill you now, there’s still time for us to get out.”

Neal anticipated the guy reaching for his knife and he got there first, reaching out and snatching the weapon before the guard could. He struck out with the hilt and hit his jaw, sending the guard staggering back. The other rushed forward, pulling out a gun and gripping Neal’s hair, yanking his head back and pressing the barrel against his skin.

Neal ignored the spots in his vision and swung his hands upwards before the thug had a chance to fire. The pair struggled with the weapon as Neal gathered up what little strength he had in order to keep the barrel away from him. The thug was stronger, though, and yanked it out of Neal’s grip, swinging it and hitting the side of Neal’s head.

A derisive grin crossed the guard’s face as he pointed the gun again. Neal had his head bowed as he tried to recover from the assault, but he knew what was coming, and he found himself closing his eyes while he waited for the sound of the gunshot.

“FBI! Freeze!”

Neal opened his eyes as a frown formed on his face. Out of his peripheral vision he saw the guards spinning and raising their guns, only for two consecutive gunshots to send them to the ground, clutching their arm and leg respectively. Their guns were kicked away and then Neal felt someone touching his arm.

“Caffrey? Can you hear me?”

“Peter,” Neal breathed, letting out a faint smile at the sound of the agent’s voice. “You foun’ me.”

“Yeah I found you.” he heard Peter reply with a huff as he began hurriedly untying the ropes around his ankles. “I’ve been trying to find you ever since that damn tracker started transmitting. I was gonna drag you back to prison myself.”

Neal choked a laugh and straightened slightly in his chair, lifting his head with a groan to get a look at Peter. He was frowning while he freed Neal’s ankles, and when he moved to begin untying his wrists, Neal also frowned.

“You’re hands… shakin’.” he murmured. He blinked sluggishly and when he focused on Peter again, the agent was speaking into a phone.

“Diana, I need an ambulance ASAP. There’s a barn north of the farmhouse, we’re in there. Yeah, it’s Caffrey, it’s not good.”

He hung up and pulled the ropes that Neal had already loosened away from him. “Was your shoulder the only place you were hit?” he asked, his tone serious.

Neal blinked again and felt himself tipping now that there were no ropes restraining him. Peter’s hands gripped his upper arms before he fell flat on his face and slowly helped to lower him until he was kneeling on the ground.

“Caffrey, focus!” he snapped, lifting Neal’s chin.

“Are you angry?” he mumbled, muffling a groan as tendrils of pain circulated his body. He could feel his vision darkening again and he vehemently fought it off, wanting to keep Peter in his sights for as long as he could. If this was the last time he was going to see him, he was going to milk it for all it was worth.

“No, I’m not angry.” Peter said, his tone softening as he released Neal’s face. Neal was proud of the fact that he had enough strength to keep it raised. “But you need to answer my question. An ambulance is on its way, but are you hurt anywhere other than your shoulder?”

Neal was going to answer, but then another thought wrestled its way to the forefront of his mind. “Where’s ‘lizabeth?”

“Neal, please.” Peter said, and Neal thought he heard his voice crack. “She’s fine, she’s safe. You gave her the tracker didn’t you?” At Neal’s nod, he continued speaking. “We found her before the car got very far. Only called one ambulance because we didn't know you were here until she said that you were nearby.” he added.

“S’good,” Neal slurred, his head drooping. “M’glad.”

“Yeah, me too.” Peter said hurriedly. “But I’m more worried about you at the minute. Do you have any broken bones? Concussion?”

“Prob’ly. M’too tired to think ‘bout it.”

“Neal, please focus on me, alright? Just keep looking at me.”

“S’hard.” he answered with a frown, and he felt Peter cup his cheek and lift his head again.

“I know it is but you have to try, okay? Hold on until the ambulance gets here, please.”

“M’sorry, Peter.” he sighed. Peter jostled his face slightly.

“No, don’t. No falling asleep, Neal.”

“No.” Neal said. “M’sorry for lyin’. Din… Didn’ wanna hurt you.”

“You didn’t–” Peter started to say, but he cut himself off. “Just don’t worry about that now, Neal.”

“I din break outta prison, either.” he rushed, desperate for Peter to know that. “And the rob’ry… wasn’ me.”

“I know, I know.” Peter said, hushing him. “We got the actual guy, I’m sorry.”

“S’not your fault.” Neal mumbled, his eyelids dropping. “M’still guilty.”

“Just stop talking, Neal, alright? Focus on staying awake, please.”

“You say ‘please’ a lot.” he noted, and then he tipped forward. Any strength in his upper body deserted him and left him to collapse.

“Neal, don’t–” His forehead hit Peter’s chest before he could finish his sentence, prompting a muttered curse from the agent. He felt himself being shifted about with a lot of “sorry”s until his legs were stretched out along the ground and his upper body was supported by Peter.

“It’s alright, Neal, I’ve got you.” Peter said gently when Neal moaned as his arm was jostled. “I’ve got you.”

“Hey Peter,” he whispered, tapping Peter’s chest with the back of his left hand. “Can I… ask you somethin’?”

“What?”

“You know when… when you came over the day ‘fore you… ‘rrested me,” he said, struggling to say a full sentence without needing to pause for breath. It was taxing on his overexerted lungs, but he needed to ask this, he needed to know. “An’ you… you were drunk…”

“Yes?” The word was drawn out slowly, as if Peter knew what he was going to ask.

“Were you… were you going to ki–” He had to stop as a rattling cough shook his body, and Peter quickly lifted his body a little to help. Neal squeezed his eyes shut as the coughing brought tears to his eyes, and when it finally passed he slumped exhaustedly against Peter, the side of his head resting against Peter’s right shoulder.

“Don’t strain yourself, Neal.” he said in a quiet, controlled tone, but Neal was sure he could hear tendrils of panic in his voice. “We can talk about it later, alright?”

“I need to… I need to–” He began coughing again and Peter pulled him closer, rubbing his back soothingly.

“Ambulance is almost here, Neal, it’s going to be okay.”

Through streaming tears Neal glanced up at Peter accusingly. “You didn’… you didn’ answer my question.” The coughing subsided once more and Neal was left exhausted again, with no energy to direct a glare at Peter to ensure an answer. As he closed his eyes and felt the frantic thumping of his heart begin to die down, he became aware that Peter was whispering to him, though what he was saying, he wasn’t sure.

And when a slight pressure pressed against his hair, he smiled tiredly. “That a yes?” he croaked. Peter hummed in response and Neal’s smile widened.

“Don’t be getting cocky, Caffrey,” Peter chided. “We’re not talking about it again.”

“Hey Peter?” Neal whispered, his smile fading as the fight to stay awake began again.

“What, Neal?”

“I wanted… I wanted to kiss you back.”

Peter didn’t reply, but he started carding a hand through Neal’s hair, which was a good enough answer for him. As the sound of sirens drew nearer, he closed his eyes and faintly noted that aside from the excruciating pain in his shoulder, he hadn’t felt this content in a long time.

He didn’t have a lot of time to reflect on that though, as the voice of unconsciousness became too hard to ignore and his vision faded to black, Peter calling his name the last thing he heard.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY. There really is no excuse for the amount of time it's taken me to upload this and I'm really sorry. I just found it super difficult to start this chapter, I don't know why.
> 
> You'll be glad to know that there's one more chapter left and that one's already written and will be posted in a few days!

When Neal next woke, it was to a brightly lit room that forced him to immediately close his eyes. There was a beeping noise somewhere to the left of him, and in the distance he could hear faint voices. When he felt as though he could handle the lights, he opened his eyes.

Neal had guessed he was in a hospital room, and now he could see he was correct. The curtains were drawn closed across the window to his right, and a lamp in the corner lit the room with a soft, dim, glow, much to the amazement of his blinded eyes.

Next to his bed though, was Peter, and Neal had _not_ been expecting him to be here. The agent was slouched in a chair on the right side of his bed, an elbow leaning on the mattress with his head resting on his hand, looking down at his phone. His tie was loosened around his collar and his suit jacket was slung over the back of his chair. Neal couldn’t see his face but he didn’t need to; just knowing Peter was here – regardless of his mood – was enough to take some of the pain he was feeling away.

And speaking of pain, he hadn’t failed to notice his left arm was in a sling. His shoulder was aching badly and he didn’t dare move it in case it became more painful. His face was sore too – no doubt he had a bruise or too as a souvenir of his time in Keller’s clutches.

Neal turned his head to look at Peter again and smiled. “S’that Angry Birds?” he croaked, grinning slightly when Peter jumped and snapped his head up to look at Neal.

“Caffrey,” Peter said, and the gentleness of his tone made up for the use of Neal’s last name. “You sure took your time waking up.” he said with a twist of his lips.

“How long’s it been?”

“Three days.” Peter said, reaching for a nearby cup of water and offering the straw to Neal. “There were complications with your shoulder, it got infected.”

“Elizabeth?” he asked, only now flashing back to seeing her be dragged off by a couple of Keller’s men.

“She’s fine.” Peter answered with a small smile. “She’s just gone to get some coffee, actually, she’ll be back in a bit.”

“She’s really ok?”

“Yeah, she is.” he responded. “They kept her in overnight for observation but that was it. Which can’t be said for you, Caffrey. It’ll be a while before you’re one hundred percent again.”

Neal hesitated before saying what was on his mind, choosing to watch Peter as he shuffled the chair closer to the bed. “And then? When I’m better?”

Peter’s expression fell, hardened into something stony and iron. “You’ll go back to prison.”

Neal sighed and closed his eyes, knowing that that was going to be the answer but still feeling like Peter had pulled the rug out from under him.

“I know you didn’t steal that piece from El’s gallery,” Peter continued. “And I’m sorry you were wrongfully accused, but,” Neal heard him shift and a second later he felt a hand tentatively touch his arm.

“You were gonna steal a different piece, weren’t you?”

Neal didn’t answer.

“Too many people know, Neal, I can’t protect you from this. And the FBI already knew Neal Caffrey has done a lot more than plan to steal a painting.”

Neal scoffed involuntarily and the look of confusion on Peter’s face when he opened his eyes was baffling to him.

“What?” Peter asked.

“C’mon Peter, don’t lie to me.”

“Lie to you? Alright, I’m gonna ignore the fact that that’s what you’ve been doing the minute we met and instead ask you what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Oh please, you’d never protect me. I’m a criminal, like you guessed; you loathe me, so why on earth would you want to _protect_ me?”

“ _Loathe_ you? God, Neal, I don’t loathe you.”

Neal chose not to respond. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

“I’m angry that you lied to me and El, I wish I didn’t care about you as much as I do, and I hate that you messed me around, but–”

“I wasn’t mess–!” He gave up mid-sentence and turned his head away, finding no use in defending himself to Peter. What was the point?

There was silence for a long time. When Peter next spoke, it was almost a whisper. “What did you think was going to happen, Neal?”

“Clearly I didn’t think.” Neal said shortly.

“Did you just hope I’d never find out? And that we’d… what?”

“Peter, just leave it.” he said, opening his eyes and letting him see the yearning and heartache he’d been battling with for so long. “You don’t have to worry about that anymore. I’m not your business, now. You can handcuff me to this bed, find Elizabeth and leave, and just forget about me. I’m sorry if I ever made you uncomfortable.”

“Neal,” Peter sighed, rubbing his forehead while a tired expression crossed his face. “You didn’t. You never did. I just… it couldn’t have worked. You know that, right?”

“Right.” Neal said, his throat tightening.

“Maybe you can forget about me, too. Serve your time, and then go and find Kate. Via legal means.” he added.

Kate was absolutely the last person he wanted to think about now. “Right.” he repeated, in a voice softer than the last time he said it.

Peter’s long fingers found his hand and squeezed. “I’m sorry, Neal. Really, I am.”

Neal looked down at his lap for a moment, before mustering every last ounce of the conman he knew he could be and channelling that into a charismatic smile.

“Don’t be, Peter. I’m glad I met you.”

Peter smiled wryly at him. “Likewise.”

* * *

 

_Four years later_

 

* * *

 

“Let me see it.”

Neal stopped and hitched up his pant leg, letting Peter see the tracker.

“You understand how this works?”

Neal began to make his way over to where Peter was waiting by a car. “I'm being released into the custody of the FBI, under your supervision, and this thing chaffs my leg. Anything I'm missing?”

“Yeah,” Peter responded, and Neal paused in front of him. “If you run, and I catch you, which you know I will because I’m 2 and 0, you’re not back here for four years, you’re back here for good.”

While he spoke, Neal admired how the agent was able to appear so aloof and emotionless, as if he barely knew him. He hoped he was displaying the same sentiment and that none of the excitement and joy he felt upon seeing Peter again was visible.

“You’re going to be tempted to look for Kate. Don’t.”

Four years later, and Peter changes his tune. Neal knew that the circumstances under which he’d gotten out of prison were different to the one Peter had been envisioning back when he was sat in Neal’s hospital room, but he wondered if Peter remembered his parting words. He doubted it.

“I told you: the bottle meant good-bye.” he said instead.

“Then leave it at that. This is a temporary situation. Help me catch the Dutchman, we can make it permanent.”

Neal offered Peter a small smile as they approached the car. “Where are we headed?” he asked.

“Your new home.” Peter said, and Neal thought he could hear an ounce of smugness in his voice.

In the car ride over Neal alternated between looking outside at New York and looking at Peter. He’d barely changed in the four years since he’d last seen him, and Neal felt the stirrings of something felt long ago begin to waken. He bit his lip and glanced back out the window. Kate was his priority now. He needed to find her.

“You’re awfully quiet.” Peter said. “Having second thoughts about our deal?”

“Not at all.” Neal replied with an easy smile.

Peter shot him a suspicious look but didn’t comment further.

“How have you been?” Neal asked. “You’re still with Elizabeth, right?”

At the question Peter’s fingers tightened their grip on the steering wheel.

“Nothing can happen, Neal.” he said sharply.

“I – what?”

“I am your superior and I’m _not_ going to abuse the power I hold over you, got that?”

“Peter, that wasn’t at all what I was getting at.” Though at least that answered one question that had been residing at the back of his mind. “I wanted to ask after Elizabeth but I didn’t know if she was still in the picture, that’s all.”

Peter cleared his throat and nodded once. “Right, sorry.”

They fell into an uncomfortable silence.

Neal was hopeful about seeing Elizabeth again. Even though she had been one of the factors preventing him from acting on his feelings for Peter, he could never dislike her. He wondered if Peter had ever talked to her about their conversation in the hospital room. Probably not.

Next to him, Peter cleared his throat, and Neal looked at him expectantly.

“While I’m not thrilled at the circumstances we’re meeting again in… it’s good to see you.” he said, his eyes fixed determinedly on the road even though they’d stopped at traffic lights.

Neal grinned at him. “Likewise.”

He didn’t miss the smile that tugged at Peter’s lips.

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

**EPILOGUE**

_Seven years later_

Neal stood at one of the tall windows of his [bedroom](http://www.kampur.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/Modern-Bedroom-Design-Ideas-in-Luxury-Apartment.jpg), his hands in his pockets, gazing at the view. While the streets of Paris and the Eiffel Tower sitting in the distance provided a beautiful scene to stare at in the mornings, he knew it would never be as good as the one he’d had in New York. Sometimes when he was missing home he liked to stand there and envision the skyscrapers and bustling sidewalks that he loved.

On the bedside table next to him sat the newspaper he’d been reading earlier. The headline had caught his eye two days ago, and when he’d learned that the last of the Panthers had been caught and were now serving time in prison he’d felt as if someone had removed the crushing weight that had been perched on his shoulders the minute he’d landed in France.

He could go home.

Everyone Neal loved was safe now, there was no need for him to stay away. He could see June and Moz and Elizabeth and _Peter._ Peter, who he missed so dearly. Peter, who had made his heart swell every time he'd given him a wry smile or a squeeze of his shoulder.

Those six years spent working with Peter and the FBI had been the best of his life. Moz would probably have a stroke if he ever told him that, but Neal couldn’t deny any longer. He was finally embracing how he felt, but now there was nothing he could do. Because while there was the possibility Peter shared the sentiment, he could never _love_ Neal the way he loved Peter. Peter had Elizabeth. Elizabeth was expecting a baby. Well actually, Elizabeth must have had the baby by now. Which meant Peter had a son.

He couldn’t go home.

There was no way Neal was going to get in the way of Peter and Elizabeth. While he knew Elizabeth was accepting of many things, he didn’t think she’d accept Neal breaking up her family. And he didn’t want to. He came from a broken home. He didn’t want the Burke’s child wishing his family would be happy and whole.

He couldn’t be with Peter and yet he couldn’t bear to go back to what they’d been. He wanted more. He was selfish for that, he knew it, but he couldn’t stop it. He didn’t want to.

There was a knock at the door and Neal ignored it. He knew his neighbour, Corinne, was going to ask him to watch her dog tonight, so he’d see her later. He didn’t want to deal with anything right now.

Maybe he’d contact Moz again. He’d felt terrible for deceiving him, but keeping him in the dark had been the only way to keep him – everyone – safe. When he’d learned of the dismantlement of the Panthers he’d made contact immediately and endured the five minutes of swearing and cursing because it had felt so good to hear his friend. Moz had reluctantly agreed to drop the bottle of Bordeaux off at the Burke’s, and Neal was sure he was eager to see him and find out how he’d faked his death. Neal was eager to tell him.

He turned from the window and removed his suit jacket, hanging it up on a hanger in his wardrobe. He faced his bed and contemplated taking a nap. Maybe once he’d slept he wouldn’t feel so morose.

He heard Corinne knock again, louder and with more urgency this time, and he sighed. He’d have to postpone the nap.

He made his way into the open space of his [apartment](http://inspirationseek.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/Modern-Open-Plan-Apartment-Living-Room.jpg), down the short hallway and then opened the door, ready to get rid of Corinne with a charming smile.

Except it wasn’t Corinne. It was Peter, standing there in a rumpled suit with an unbuttoned collar and a loosened tie, sporting a wild look in his eyes as if he didn’t know what was going to be on the other side of the door.

“Peter,” Neal choked, his voice abandoning him as his eyes widened. “How the hell did you find–”

He was cut off when Peter’s expression hardened, the only warning Neal got before a right fist sent him stumbling into the wall. He landed on his knees and caught himself before he fell forwards but he was soon twisting to get his back to the wall so that Peter was in his sight, should the agent be advancing on him.

And he was. Peter took one step forward and gripped Neal’s forearms, heaving him roughly to his feet.

“Peter–” he stuttered out, hating the fear in his tone, but he was cut off once again when he was suddenly pulled forwards and Peter was kissing him.

Neal froze and his mind went blank. _Peter was kissing him_. He could feel Peter’s hands loosening their grip on his arms until they were holding him gently, almost letting go, and Neal’s heart kicked himself into action before Peter grew uncertain.

He kissed back with renewed vigour, his hands coming to rest on Peter’s neck, and he couldn’t help but smile when he felt Peter’s large hands sliding down his arms and linking around his waist, pulling him closer.

“Neal,” Peter said raggedly when he broke the kiss, tugging Neal closer and hugging him tightly. Neal wanted to hear him say his name in only that voice for the rest of his life.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered, wrapping his arms around Peter’s neck.

“You damn well should be.” he growled. “Do you have _any_ idea what you–”

“Yes.” Neal interrupted, pulling back and instantly missing having Peter’s arms around him. “Yes, I know what I put you through, but I had to.”

“Because of the Panthers.”

“You weren’t safe until they were all caught. I had to protect you.”

“You should have _told_ me.” Peter snapped, jabbing a finger into Neal’s chest. “We could have worked something out.”

“Not this time.”

“Dammit Neal, you–” He stopped before he said something Neal knew he’d regret, and instead he marched down the hallway into the apartment. “You can’t always do things on your own, it’s not–”

“Fair, Peter I know.” he finished, following Peter into his own home. “I knew it wasn’t fair on you guys but I had no choice.”

Peter was scrubbing a hand across his face. “It’s not fair on you either.” he said in a low voice.

Neal blinked at the sudden consideration but it didn’t stop him from defending himself. “It wasn’t about what I wanted. I–”

“It’s _never_ about what you wanted!” Peter shouted, startling Neal into silence. “The first time we met, you were stealing that painting for Kate, when Mozzie stole the Nazi treasure you aided and abetted to try to keep him happy for as long as you could, when Elizabeth was kidnapped because of it you gave it away and were prepared to take full responsibility–”

“Of course–”

“And when I was in prison you committed _another_ felony, to get me out! You’re too damn noble for your own good, Neal, and it gets you and other people hurt!”

Neal watched him pace around in a tight spot, a frown forming on his face. “So I shouldn’t be selfless? What exactly are you angry about?” he asked, his own voice rising.

“I don’t know!” Peter shouted. He seemed to realise he was shouting and consciously lowered his arms. “I don’t know. You do the wrong things for the right reasons and it frustrates the hell out of me.”

Neal smiled a little, and Peter mirrored it, turning away and walking towards the large windows. “How do you always get better homes than me?” he asked, mostly to himself.

“This isn’t my home.” Neal said quietly.

Peter turned back to face him, his eyebrows raised. “I know.” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Neal scoffed. “What are _you_ sorry for?”

Peter began to take a few steps towards him. “Well, knowing why you faked your death, I’m sorry we took so long in catching the Panthers, and I’m sorry you’ve been on your own for a year.”

He came to a stop in front of Neal, and waited for him to look him in the eyes. “And I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to do this.”

He leaned in and kissed Neal again, gentler this time. Peter’s hands rested on his hips and Neal felt himself holding Peter’s shoulders. When they came up for air, Neal rested his forehead against Peter’s.

“I mean it wasn’t so long.” Neal said, and when Peter made a questioning noise he elaborated. “You kissed me a minute ago.”

Peter snorted. “Shut up, Neal.”

“After punching me in the face, I might add.”

Peter drew back to glance at Neal’s cheek. “I’m sure you’ll live.” He twined his fingers with Neal’s. “Want to put some ice on it?”

“Nah.” Neal said with a soft smile, a smile that Peter returned.

“What about Elizabeth?” he asked, in a voice quiet enough that a part of him hoped Peter hadn’t heard him.

To his surprise, Peter smiled. “She knows.”

“She does?”

“Yeah. Knew before I did, I think. When I told her there was a possibility you were still alive, she kinda gave me her blessing to find you and… well, do that.”

“And she was alright with it?”

“Yeah, she was.” Peter sounded as surprised as he was. “She said she’d always thought you were attracted to me, and early on she found that she was ok with that. Would’ve been ok with me choosing you.”

“And now?” Neal asked with a frown. “You’re just going to leave her?”

Peter sighed and seemed to be watching Neal carefully. “No.” he answered. “I love her. I’m not going to leave her.”

Neal nodded and looked down at his shoes, trying to gather a convincing front.

“But she told me that if you were alive, I should give you this.”

Peter was holding out a piece of paper, and Neal took and opened it with a frown.

_I’m willing to share if you are. Now come home, please._

_\- El_

“I love Elizabeth, Neal. But… I love you, too. And I realise I’m getting the better deal out of the three of us, but if you agree to this, I’ll never put you second. All three of us are equals.”

Neal felt a smile stretching across his face. “No longer my superior, huh?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Not anymore, no. You’re free.” He said that last sentence with the widest smile Neal had ever seen on the man, and Neal was fairly sure his eyes were glinting too.

“Well, it’s time I enjoyed my freedom. Kiss me again right now, Peter Burke.”

Peter grinned and swept in, taking Neal’s face in his hands and kissing him sweetly, the two of them smiling through it. It barely qualified as a kiss but neither of them cared.

“I love you so much, Neal.” Peter mumbled as their kissing became more heated.

“I love you too, Peter.” Neal muttered. “Now stop talking.”

Peter huffed a laugh and before Neal knew what was happening he gripped Neal’s waist and lifted him up. Neal’s legs wrapped around Peter and he chuckled as the agent grunted.

“Regretting that?” he asked from his vantage point above Peter.

“Not one bit.” he murmured. “Now where’s your undoubtedly fancy bedroom?”

“Down the hall.” Neal said, burrowing closer to Peter and closing his eyes, thankful that after so long he was able to hear Peter’s heartbeat in such an intimate fashion.

He was even more thankful that he’d hear it for many years to come.

FIN

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Hope you enjoyed it, and thanks to everyone who left a comment or kudos, they mean a lot to me!


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